PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP 

God  ha'  mercv,  I'm  done  for 
Photogravure  by  John  Andrew  &  Son  after  original  by  Reginald  Holies 


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(Ftittion  fir  ILurr 

PRINTED   FOK    SUBSCRIBERS    ONLY 

LIMITED  TO  ONE   THOUSAND  SETS 


Copyright,  1009 

BY   THE   KIHMU'liGII    SOCIKT1 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LlSPETH     I 

Three  and — an  Extra 1 1 

Thrown  Away   21 

Miss  Youghal's  Sais 39 

"Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever" 51 

False  Dawn 61 

The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 79 

Cupid's  Arrows 91 

His  Chance  in  Life 101 

Watches  of  the  Night 113 

The  Other  Man 125 

Consequences   135 

The    Conversion    of    Aurelian    Mc- 

Goggin    147 

A  Germ-Destroyer 1 59 

Kidnapped    1 71 

The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly  183 

In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 195 

His  Wedded  Wife   211 

PLAIN  TALES 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Broken-Link  Handicap   223 

Beyond  the  Pale 235 

In  Error 249 

A  Bank  Fraud  259 

Tods'  Amendment 273 

In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 287 

Pig   301 

The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  ...  315 

The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case   ....  335 

Venus  Annodomini  347 

The  Bisara  of  Pooree 357 

A  Friend's  Friend 369 

The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows.  381 

The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din 395 

On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness  ....  403 

Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  ....  415 

By  Word  of  Mouth 427 

To  be  Filed  for  Reference 437 

The  Last  Relief 455 

Bitters  Neat 469 

Haunted  Subalterns  481 


PLAIN  TALES 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"God  ha'  Mercy,  I'm  Done  for"  {See 

page  233)    Frontispiece 

Photogravure    by    John    Andrew    &    Son    after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

LlSPETH     10 

Mezzogravure    by    John    Andrew    &    Son    after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

His  Face  was  White  and  Drawn  ....     76 

Mezzogravure    by    John    Andrew    &    Son    after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung-Tching's 

coffin   385 

Mezzogravure    by    John    Andreiv   &   Son  after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 


PLAIN  TALES 


LISPETH 


LISPETH 

Look,  you  have  cast  out  Love !    What  Gods  are  these 

You  bid  me  please? 
The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three?    Not  so! 

To  my  own  Gods  I  go. 
It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  ease 
Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

— The  Convert. 

QHE  was  the  daughter  of  Sonoo,  a  Hill-man 
^  of  the  Himalayas,  and  Jadeh  his  wife. 
One  year  their  maize  failed,  and  two  bears 
spent  the  night  in  their  only  opium  poppy-field 
just  above  the  Sutlej  Valley  on  the  Kotgarh 
side;  so,  next  season,  they  turned  Christian, 
and  brought  their  baby  to  the  Mission  to  be 
baptized.  The  Kotgarh  Chaplain  christened 
her  Elizabeth,  and  "Lispeth"  is  the  Hill  or 
paliari  pronunciation. 

Later,  cholera  came  into  the  Kotgarh  Valley 
and  carried  off  Sonoo  and  Jadeh,  and  Lispeth 
became  half  servant,  half  companion  to  the 
wife  of  the  then  Chaplain  of  Kotgarh.  This 
was  after  the  reign  of  the  Moravian  mission- 
aries in  that  place,  but  before  Kotgarh  had 
quite  forgotten  her  title  of  "Mistress  of  the 
Northern  Hills." 


2  LISPETH 

Whether  Christianity  improved  Lispeth,  or 
whether  the  gods  of  her  own  people  would 
have  done  as  much  for  her  under  any  circum- 
stances, I  do  not  know;  but  she  grew  very 
lovely.  When  a  Hill-girl  grows  lovely  she  is 
worth  traveling  fifty  miles  over  bad  ground  to 
look  upon.  Lispeth  had  a  Greek  face — one  of 
those  faces  people  paint  so  often,  and  see  so 
seldom.  She  was  of  a  pale,  ivory  color,  and, 
for  her  race,  extremely  tall.  Also,  she  pos- 
sessed eyes  that  were  wonderful ;  and,  had  she 
not  been  dressed  in  the  abominable  print-cloths 
affected  by  Missions,  you  would,  meeting  her 
on  the  hillside  unexpectedly,  have  thought  her 
the  original  Diana  of  the  Romans  going  out  to 
slay. 

Lispeth  took  to  Christianity  readily,  and  did 
not  abandon  it  when  she  reached  womanhood, 
as  do  some  Hill-girls.  Her  own  people  hated 
her  because  she  had,  they  said,  become  a  white 
woman  and  washed  herself  daily;  and  the 
Chaplain's  wife  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
her.  One  cannot  ask  a  stately  goddess,  five 
foot  ten  in  her  shoes,  to  clean  plates  and  dishes. 
She  played  with  the  Chaplain's  children  and 
took  classes  in  the  Sunday-School,  and  read  all 
the  books  in  the  house,  and  grew  more  and 
more   beautiful,   like   the   Princesses   in    fairy 


LISPETH  3 

tales.  The  Chaplain's  wife  said  that  the  girl 
ought  to  take  service  in  Simla  as  a  nurse  or 
something  "genteel."  But  Lispeth  did  not 
want  to  take  service.  She  was  very  happy 
where  she  was. 

When  travelers — there  were  not  many  in 
those  years — came  in  to  Kotgarh,  Lispeth  used 
to  lock  herself  into  her  own  room  for  fear  they 
might  take  her  away  to  Simla,  or  out  into  the 
unknown  world. 

One  day,  a  few  months  after  she  was  seven- 
teen years  old.  Lispeth  went  out  for  a  walk. 
She  did  not  walk  in  the  manner  of  English 
ladies — a  mile  and  a  half  out,  with  a  carriage- 
ride  back  again.  She  covered  between  twenty 
and  thirty  miles  in  her  little  constitutionals,  all 
about  and  about,  between  Kotgarh  and  Nar- 
kunda.  This  time  she  came  back  at  full  dusk, 
stepping  down  the  breakneck  descent  into  Kot- 
garh with  something  heavy  in  her  arms.  The 
Chaplain's  wife  was  dozing  in  the  drawing- 
room  when  Lispeth  came  in  breathing  heavily 
and  very  exhausted  with  her  burden.  Lispeth 
put  it  down  on  the  sofa,  and  said  simply,  "This 
is  my  husband.  I  found  him  on  the  Bagi  Road. 
He  has  hurt  himself.  We  will  nurse  him,  and 
when  he  is  well,  your  husband  shall  marry  him 
to  me." 


4  LISPETH 

This  was  the  first  mention  Lispeth  had  ever 
made  of  her  matrimonial  views,  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  shrieked  with  horror.  However, 
the  man  on  the  sofa  needed  attention  first.  He 
was  a  young  Englishman,  and  his  head  had 
been  cut  to  the  bone  by  something  jagged.  Lis- 
peth said  she  had  found  him  down  the  hillside, 
and  had  brought  him  in.  He  was  breathing 
queerly  and  was  unconscious. 

He  was  put  to  bed  and  tended  by  the  Chap- 
lain, who  knew  something  of  medicine;  and 
Lispeth  waited  outside  the  door  in  case  she 
could  be  useful.  She  explained  to  the  Chaplain 
that  this  was  the  man  she  meant  to  marry ;  and 
the  Chaplain  and  his  wife  lectured  her  severely 
on  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct.  Lispeth 
listened  quietly,  and  repeated  her  first  proposi- 
tion. It  takes  a  great  deal  of  Christianity  to 
wipe  out  uncivilized  Eastern  instincts,  such  as 
falling  in  love  at  first  sight.  Lispeth,  having 
found  the  man  she  worshipped,  did  not  see  why 
she  should  keep  silent  as  to  her  choice.  She 
had  no  intention  of  being  sent  away,  either. 
She  was  going  to  nurse  that  Englishman  until 
he  was  well  enough  to  marry  her.  This  was 
her  programme. 

After  a  fortnight  of  slight  fever  and  inflam- 


LISPETH  5 

mation,  the  Englishman  recovered  coherence 
and  thanked  the  Chaplain  and  his  wife,  and 
Lispeth — especially  Lispeth — for  their  kind- 
ness. He  was  a  traveler  in  the  East,  he  said — 
they  never  talked  about  "globe-trotters"  in 
those  days,  when  the  P.  &  O.  fleet  was  young 
and  small — and  had  come  from  Dehra  Dun  to 
hunt  for  plants  and  butterflies  among  the  Simla 
hills.  No  one  at  Simla,  therefore,  knew  any- 
thing about  him.  He  fancied  that  he  must 
have  fallen  over  the  cliff  while  reaching  out  for 
a  fern  on  a  rotten  tree-trunk,  and  that  his 
coolies  must  have  stolen  his  baggage  and  fled. 
He  thought  he  would  go  back  to  Simla  when 
he  was  a  little  stronger.  He  desired  no  more 
mountaineering. 

He  made  small  haste  to  go  away,  and  recov- 
ered his  strength  slowly.  Lispeth  objected  to 
being  advised  either  by  the  Chaplain  or  his 
wife;  therefore  the  latter  spoke  to  the  English- 
man, and  told  him  how  matters  stood  in  Lis- 
peth's  heart.  He  laughed  a  good  deal,  and 
said  it  was  very  pretty  and  romantic,  but,  as 
he  was  engaged  to  a  girl  at  Home,  he  fancied 
that  nothing  would  happen.  Certainly  he 
would  behave  with  discretion.  He  did  that. 
Still  he  found  it  very  pleasant  to  talk  to  Lis- 
peth,  and   walk   with   Lispeth,    and   say  nice 


6  LISPETH 

things  to  her,  and  call  her  pet  names  while  he 
was  getting  strong  enough  to  go  away.  It 
meant  nothing  at  all  to  him,  and  everything  in 
the  world  to  Lispeth.  She  was  very  happy 
while  the  fortnight  lasted,  because  she  had 
found  a  man  to  love. 

Being  a  savage  by  birth,  she  took  no  trouble 
to  hide  her  feelings,  and  the  Englishman  was 
amused.  When  he  went  away,  Lispeth  walked 
with  him  up  the  Hill  as  far  as  Narkunda,  very 
troubled  and  very  miserable.  The  Chaplain's 
wife,  being  a  good  Christian  and  disliking  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  fuss  or  scandal — Lispeth 
was  beyond  her  management  entirely — had  told 
the  Englishman  to  tell  Lispeth  that  he  was 
coming  back  to  marry  her.  "She  is  but  a  child 
you  know,  and.  I  fear,  at  heart  a  heathen," 
said  the  Chaplain's  wife.  So  all  the  twelve 
miles  up  the  Hill  the  Englishman,  with  his  arm 
round  Lispeth's  waist,  was  assuring  the  girl 
that  he  would  come  back  and  marry  her;  and 
Lispeth  made  him  promise  over  and  over  again. 
She  wept  on  the  Narkunda  Ridge  till  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight  along  the  Muttiani  path. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  went  into  Kot- 
garh  again,  and  said  to  the  Chaplain's  wife, 
"He  will  come  back  and  marry  me.  He  has 
gone  to  his  own  people  to  tell  them  so."    And 


LISPETH  7 

the  Chaplain's  wife  soothed  Lispeth  and  said, 
"He  will  come  back."  At  the  end  of  two 
months,  Lispeth  grew  impatient,  and  was  told 
that  the  Englishman  had  gone  over  the  seas  to 
England.  She  knew  where  England  was,  be- 
cause she  had  read  little  geography  primers; 
but,  of  course,  she  had  no  conception  of  the 
nature  of  the  sea,  being  a  Hill-girl.  There 
was  an  old  puzzle-map  of  the  World  in  the 
house.  Lispeth  had  played  with  it  when  she 
was  a  child.  She  unearthed  it  again,  and  put 
it  together  of  evenings,  and  cried  to  herself, 
and  tried  to  imagine  where  her  Englishman 
was.  As  she  had  no  ideas  of  distance  or  steam- 
boats, her  notions  were  somewhat  wild.  It 
would  not  have  made  the  least  difference  had 
she  been  perfectly  correct ;  for  the  Englishman 
had  no  intention  of  coming  back  to  marry  a 
Hill-girl.  He  forgot  all  about  her  by  the  time 
he  was  butterfly-hunting  in  Assam.  He  wrote 
a  book  on  the  East  afterward.  Lispeth's  name 
did  not  appear  there. 

At  the  end  of  three  months  Lispeth  made 
daily  pilgrimage  to  Narkunda  to  see  if  her 
Englishman  was  coming  along  the  road.  It 
gave  her  comfort,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  find- 
ing her  happier  thought  that  she  was  getting 
over  her  "barbarous  and  most  indelicate  folly." 


8  LISPETH 

A  little  later,  the  walks  ceased  to  help  Lispeth 
and  her  temper  grew  very  bad.  The  Chaplain's 
wife  thought  this  a  profitable  time  to  let  her 
know  the  real  state  of  affairs — that  the  Eng- 
lishman had  only  promised  his  love  to  keep  her 
quiet — that  he  had  never  meant  anything,  and 
that  it  was  wrong  and  improper  of  Lispeth  to 
think  of  marrying  with  an  Englishman,  who 
was  of  a  superior  clay,  besides  being  promised 
in  marriage  to  a  girl  of  his  own  people.  Lis- 
peth said  that  all  this  was  clearly  impossible 
because  he  had  said  he  loved  her,  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  had,  with  her  own  lips,  asserted 
that  the  Englishman  was  coming  back. 

"How  can  what  he  said  and  you  said  be 
untrue?"  asked  Lispeth. 

"We  said  it  as  an  excuse  to  keep  you  quiet, 
child,"  said  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

"Then  you  have  lied  to  me,"  said  Lispeth, 
"you  and  he?" 

The  Chaplain's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and 
said  nothing.  Lispeth  was  silent,  too,  for  a 
little  time ;  then  she  went  out  down  the  valley, 
and  returned  in  the  dress  of  a  Hill-girl — in- 
famously dirty,  but  without  the  nose-stud  and 
earrings.  She  had  her  hair  braided  into  the 
long  pigtail,  helped  out  with  black  thread,  that 
Hill-women  wear. 


LISPETH  9 

"I  am  going  back  to  my  own  people,"  said 
she.  "You  have  killed  Lispeth.  There  is  only 
left  old  Jadeh's  daughter — the  daughter  of  a 
pahari  and  the  servant  of  Tarka  Devi.  You 
are  all  liars,  you  English." 

By  the  time  that  the  Chaplain's  wife  had  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  the  announcement 
that  Lispeth  had  'verted  to  her  mother's  gods, 
the  girl  had  gone ;  and  she  never  came  back. 

She  took  to  her  own  unclean  people  savage- 
ly, as  if  to  make  up  the  arrears  of  the  life  she 
had  stepped  out  of;  and,  in  a  little  time,  she 
married  a  woodcutter  who  beat  her  after  the 
manner  of  paharis,  and  her  beauty  faded  soon. 

"There  is  no  law  whereby  you  can  account 
for  the  vagaries  of  the  heathen,"  said  the  Chap- 
lain's wife,  "and  I  believe  that  Lispeth  was  al- 
ways at  heart  an  infidel."  Seeing  she  had  been 
taken  into  the  Church  of  England  at  the  mature 
age  of  five  weeks,  this  statement  does  not  do 
credit  to  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

Lispeth  was  a  very  old  woman  when  she 
died.  She  had  always  a  perfect  command  of 
English,  and  when  she  was  sufficiently  drunk, 
could  sometimes  be  induced  to  tell  the  story  of 
her  first  love-affair. 

It  was  hard  then  to  realize  that  the  bleared, 
wrinkled    creature,    exactly    like    a    wisp    of 


to  LISPETH 

charred  rag,  could  ever  have  been  "Lispeth  of 
the  Kotgarh  Mission." 


29lIo9  bl£ni§9H  yd  knigho  islls  no8  &  wgibnA  nriol  yd  9iuv£i§oss9M 


Lispeth 
Mezzogravure  by  John  Andrew  &  Son  after  original  by  Reginald  Bolles 


^ 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 

When  halter  and  heel-ropes  are  slipped,  do  not  give 
chase  with  sticks  but  with  gram. — Punjabi  Proverb. 

AFTER  marriage  arrives  a  reaction,  some- 
times a  big\  sometimes  a  little  one ;  but  it 
comes  sooner  or  later,  and  must  be  tided  over 
by  both  parties  if  they  desire  the  rest  of  their 
lives  to  go  with  the  current. 

In  the  case  of  the  Cusack-Bremmils  this  re- 
action did  not  set  in  till  the  third  year  after  the 
wedding.  Bremmil  was  hard  to  hold  at  the 
best  of  times ;  but  he  was  a  beautiful  husband 
until  the  baby  died  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  wore 
black,  and  grew  thin,  and  mourned  as  though 
the  bottom  of  the  Universe  had  fallen  out. 
Perhaps  Bremmil  ought  to  have  comforted  her. 
He  tried  to  do  so,  but  the  more  he  comforted 
the  more  Mrs.  Bremmil  grieved,  and,  conse- 
quently, the  more  uncomfortable  grew  Brem- 
mil. The  fact  was  that  they  both  needed  a 
tonic.  And  they  got  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  can 
afford  to  laugh  now,  but  it  was  no  laughing 
matter  to  her  at  the  time. 
13 


*4  THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  appeared  on  the  horizon; 
and  where  she  existed  was  fair  chance  of 
trouble.  At  Simla  her  by-name  was  the 
"Stormy  Petrel."  She  had  won  that  title  five 
times  to  my  own  certain  knowledge.  She  was 
a  little,  brown,  thin,  almost  skinny  woman, 
with  big,  rolling,  violet-blue  eyes,  and  the 
sweetest  manners  in  the  world.  You  had  only 
to  mention  her  name  at  afternoon  teas  for 
every  woman  in  the  room  to  rise  up,  and  call 
her  not  blessed.  She  was  clever,  witty,  bril- 
liant, and  sparkling  beyond  most  of  her  kind ; 
but  possessed  of  many  devils  of  malice  and 
mischievousness.  She  could  be  nice,  though, 
even  to  her  own  sex.    But  that  is  another  story. 

Bremmil  went  off  at  score  after  the  baby's 
death  and  the  general  discomfort  that  followed, 
and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  annexed  him.  She  took  no 
pleasure  in  hiding  her  captives.  She  annexed 
him  publicly,  and  saw  that  the  public  saw  it. 
He  rode  with  her,  and  walked  with  her,  and 
talked  with  her,  and  picnicked  with  her,  and 
tiffined  at  Peliti's  with  her,  till  people  put  up 
their  eyebrows  and  said,  "Shocking!"  Mrs. 
Bremmil  stayed  at  home  turning  over  the  dead 
baby's  frocks  and  crying  into  the  empty  cradle. 
She  did  not  care  to  do  anything  else.  But 
some  eight  dear,  affectionate  lady-friends  ex- 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA  15 

plained  the  situation  at  length  to  her  in  case 
she  should  miss  the  cream  of  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil 
listened  quietly,  and  thanked  them  for  their 
good  offices.  She  was  not  as  clever  as  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  but  she  was  no  fool.  She  kept  her 
own  counsel,  and  did  not  speak  to  Bremmil  of 
what  she  had  heard.  This  is  worth  remember- 
ing. Speaking  to,  or  crying  over,  a  husband 
never  did  any  good  yet. 

When  Bremmil  was  at  home,  which  was  not 
often,  he  was  more  affectionate  than  usual ;  and 
that  showed  his  hand.  The  affection  was 
forced  partly  to  soothe  his  own  conscience  and 
partly  to  soothe  Mrs.  Bremmil.  It  failed  in 
both  regards. 

Then  "the  A.-D.-C.  in  Waiting  was  com- 
manded by  Their  Excellencies,  Lord  and  Lady 
Lytton,  to  invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cusack-Brem- 
mil  to  Peterhoff  on  July  26  at  9:30  p.  m." — 
"Dancing"  in  the  bottom-left-hand  corner. 

"I  can't  go,"  said  Mrs.  Bremmil,  "it  is  too 
soon  after  poor  little  Florrie  .  .  .  but  it 
need  not  stop  you,  Tom." 

She  meant  what  she  said  then,  and  Bremmil 
said  that  he  would  go  just  to  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. Here  he  spoke  the  thing  which  was  not ; 
and  Mrs.  Bremmil  knew  it.  She  guessed — a 
woman's  guess  is  much  more  accurate  than  a 


1 6  THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 

man's  certainty — that  he  had  meant  to  go  from 
the  first,  and  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  sat 
down  to  think,  and  the  outcome  of  her  thoughts 
was  that  the  memory  of  a  dead  child  was  worth 
considerably  less  than  the  affections  of  a  living 
husband.  She  made  her  plan  and  staked  her 
all  upon  it.  In  that  hour  she  discovered  that 
she  knew  Tom  Bremmil  thoroughly,  and  this 
knowledge  she  acted  on. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  "I  shall  be  dining  out  at 
the  Longmores'  on  the  evening  of  the  26th. 
You'd  better  dine  at  the  Club." 

This  saved  Bremmil  from  making  an  excuse 
to  get  away  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  so 
he  was  grateful,  and  felt  small  and  mean  at 
the  same  time — which  was  wholesome.  Brem- 
mil left  the  house  at  five  for  a  ride.  About 
half -past  five  in  the  evening  a  large  leather- 
covered  basket  came  in  from  Phelps's  for  Mrs. 
Bremmil.  She  was  a  woman  who  knew  how 
to  dress ;  and  she  had  not  spent  a  week  on  de- 
signing that  dress  and  having  it  gored,  and 
hemmed,  and  herring-boned,  and  tucked  and 
rucked  (or  whatever  the  terms  are),  for  noth- 
ing. It  was  a  gorgeous  dress — slight  mourn- 
ing. I  can't  describe  it,  but  it  was  what  The 
Queen  calls  "a  creation" — a  thing  that  hit  you 
straight  between  the  eyes  and  made  you  gasp. 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA  17 

She  had  not  much  heart  for  what  she  was  go- 
ing to  do ;  but  as  she  glanced  at  the  long  mir- 
ror she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life.  She 
was  a  large  blonde,  and,  when  she  chose,  car- 
ried herself  superbly. 

After  the  dinner  at  the  Longmores',  she  went 
on  to  the  dance — a  little  late — and  encountered 
Bremmil  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee  on  his  arm. 
That  made  her  flush,  and  as  the  men  crowded 
round  her  for  dances  she  looked  magnificent. 
She  filled  up  all  her  dances  except  three,  and 
those  she  left  blank.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  caught 
her  eye  once;  and  she  knew  it  was  war — real 
war — between  them.  She  started  handicapped 
in  the  struggle,  for  she  had  ordered  Bremmil 
about  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  too 
much ;  and  he  was  beginning  to  resent  it. 
Moreover,  he  had  never  seen  his  wife  look  so 
lovely.  He  stared  at  her  from  doorways,  and 
glared  at  her  from  passages  as  she  went  about 
with  her  partners ;  and  the  more  he  stared,  the 
more  taken  was  he.  He  could  scarcely  believe 
that  this  was  the  woman  with  the  red  eyes  and 
the  black  stuff  gown  who  used  to  weep  over 
the  eggs  at  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  her  best  to  hold  him  in 
play,  but,  after  two  dances,  he  crossed  over  to 
his  wife  and  asked  for  a  dance. 


1 8  THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA 

"I'm  afraid  you've  come  too  late,  Mister 
Bremmil,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  twinkling. 

Then  he  begged  her  to  give  him  a  dance, 
and,  as  a  great  favor,  she  allowed  him  the  fifth 
waltz.  Luckily  Five  stood  vacant  on  his  pro- 
gramme. They  danced  it  together,  and  there 
was  a  little  flutter  round  the  room.  Bremmil 
had  a  sort  of  a  notion  that  his  wife  could  dance, 
but  he  never  knew  she  danced  so  divinely.  At 
the  end  of  that  waltz  he  asked  for  another — as 
a  favor,  not  as  a  right ;  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  said, 
"Show  me  your  programme,  dear!"  He 
showed  it  as  a  naughty  little  schoolboy  hands 
up  contraband  sweets  to  a  master.  There  was 
a  fair  sprinkling  of  "H"  on  it,  besides  "H"  at 
supper.  Mrs.  Bremmil  said  nothing,  but  she 
smiled  contemptuously,  ran  her  pencil  through 
Seven  and  Nine — two  "H's" — and  returned 
the  card  with  her  own  name  written  above — a 
pet  name  that  only  she  and  her  husband  used. 
Then  she  shook  her  finger  at  him,  and  said 
laughing,  "Oh  you  silly,  silly  boy !" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  heard  that,  and — she  owned 
as  much — felt  she  had  the  worst  of  it.  Brem- 
mil accepted  Seven  and  Nine  gratefully.  They 
danced  Seven,  and  sat  out  Nine  in  one  of  the 
little  tents.  What  Bremmil  said  and  what  Mrs. 
Bremmil  did  is  no  concern  of  any  one. 


THREE  AND— AN  EXTRA  19 

When  the  band  struck  up  "The  Roast  Beef 
of  Old  England,"  the  two  went  out  into  the 
veranda,  and  Bremmil  began  looking  for  his 
wife's  dandy  (this  was  before  'rickshaw  days) 
while  she  went  into  the  cloak-room.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  came  up  and  said,  "You  take  me  in 
to  supper,  I  think,  Mr.  Bremmil?"  Bremmil 
turned  red  and  looked  foolish,  "Ah — h'm !  I'm 
going  home  with  my  wife,  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  I 
think  there  has  been  a  little  mistake."  Being  a 
man,  he  spoke  as  though  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were 
entirely  responsible. 

Mrs.  Bremmil  came  out  of  the  cloak-room  in 
a  swansdown  cloak  with  a  white  "cloud"  round 
her  head.  She  looked  radiant ;  and  she  had 
a  right  to. 

The  couple  went  off  into  the  darkness  to- 
gether, Bremmil  riding  very  close  to  the  dandy. 

Then  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  me — she  looked 
a  trifle  faded  and  jaded  in  the  lamplight — 
"Take  my  word  for  it,  the  silliest  woman  can 
manage  a  clever  man ;  but  it  needs  a  very  clever 
woman  to  manage  a  fool." 

Then  we  went  in  to  supper. 


THROWN  AWAY 


THROWN  AWAY 


And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge. 

[So  ho!    Steady!    Stand  still,  you!] 
Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 

[There!    There!    Who  wants  to  kill  youf\ 
Some — there  are  losses  in  every  trade — 
Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 
Will  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard, 
And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking  yard. 

— Toolungala  Stockyard  Chorus. 

TO  rear  a  boy  under  what  parents  call  the 
"sheltered  life  system"  is,  if  the  boy  must 
go  into  the  world  and  fend  for  himself,  not 
wise.  Unless  he  be  one  in  a  thousand  he  has 
certainly  to  pass  through  many  unnecessary 
troubles;  and  may,  possibly,  come  to  extreme 
grief  simply  from  ignorance  of  the  proper  pro- 
portions of  things. 

Let  a  puppy  eat  the  soap  in  the  bath-room  or 
chew  a  newly-blacked  boot.  He  chews  and 
chuckles  until,  by  and  by,  he  finds  out  that 
blacking  and  Old  Brown  Windsor  make  him 
very  sick ;  so  he  argues  that  soap  and  boots  are 
not  wholesome.  Any  old  dog  about  the  house 
23 


24  THROWN  AWAY 

will  soon  show  him  the  unwisdom  of  biting 
big  dogs'  ears.  Being  young,  he  remembers 
and  goes  abroad,  at  six  months,  a  well-man- 
nered little  beast  with  a  chastened  appetite.  If 
he  had  been  kept  away  from  boots,  and  soap, 
and  big  dogs  till  he  came  to  the  trinity  full- 
grown  and  with  developed  teeth,  consider  how 
fearfully  sick  and  thrashed  he  would  be! 
Apply  that  notion  to  the  "sheltered  life,"  and 
see  how  it  works.  It  does  not  sound  pretty, 
but  it  is  the  better  of  two  evils. 

There  was  a  Boy  once  who  had  been  brought 
up  under  the  "sheltered  life"  theory;  and  the 
theory  killed  him  dead.  He  stayed  with  his 
people  all  his  days,  from  the  hour  he  was  born 
till  the  hour  he  went  into  Sandhurst  nearly  at 
the  top  of  the  list.  He  was  beautifully  taught 
in  all  that  wins  marks  by  a  private  tutor,  and 
carried  the  extra  weight  of  "never  having 
given  his  parents  an  hour's  anxiety  in  his  life." 
What  he  learned  at  Sandhurst  beyond  the  reg- 
ular routine  is  of  no  great  consequence.  He 
looked  about  him,  and  he  found  soap  and  black- 
ing, so  to  speak,  very  good.  He  ate  a  little,  and 
came  out  of  Sandhurst  not  so  high  as  he  went 
in.  Then  there  was  an  interval  and  a  scene 
with  his  people,  who  expected  much  from  him. 
Next  a  year  of  living  unspotted  from  the  world 


THROWN  AWAY  25 

in  a  third-rate  depot  battalion  where  all  the 
juniors  were  children  and  all  the  seniors  old 
women ;  and  lastly  he  came  out  to  India  where, 
he  was  cut  off  from  the  support  of  his  parents, 
and  had  no  one  to  fall  back  on  in  time  of 
trouble  except  himself. 

Now  India  is  a  place  beyond  all  others  where 
one  must  not  take  things  too  seriously — the 
mid-day  sun  always  excepted.  Too  much  work 
and  too  much  energy  kill  a  man  just  as  effec- 
tively as  too  much  assorted  vice  or  too  much 
drink.  Flirtation  does  not  matter,  because 
every  one  is  being  transferred  and  either  you 
or  she  leave  the  Station,  and  never  return. 
Good  work  does  not  matter,  because  a  man  is 
judged  by  his  worst  output  and  another  man 
takes  all  the  credit  of  his  best  as  a  rule.  Bad 
work  does  not  matter,  because  other  men  do 
worse  and  incompetents  hang  on  longer  in  In- 
dia than  anywhere  else.  Amusements  do  not 
matter,  because  you  must  repeat  them  as  soon 
as  you  have  accomplished  them  once,  and  most 
amusements  only  mean  trying  to  win  another 
person's  money.  Sickness  does  not  matter,  be- 
cause it's  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  if  you  die, 
another  man  takes  over  your  place  and  your 
office  in  the  eight  hours  between  death  and 
burial.      Nothing   matters    except    Home-fur- 


26  THROWN  AWAY 

lough  and  acting-  allowances,  and  these  only 
because  they  are  scarce.  It  is  a  slack  country 
where  all  men  work  with  imperfect  instru- 
ments ;  and  the  wisest  thing  is  to  escape  as  soon 
as  ever  you  can  to  some  place  where  amuse- 
ment is  amusement  and  a  reputation  worth  the 
having. 

But  this  Boy — the  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Hills 
— came  out,  and  took  all  things  seriously.  He 
was  pretty  and  was  petted.  He  took  the  pet- 
tings  seriously  and  fretted  over  women  not 
worth  saddling  a  pony  to  call  upon.  He  found 
his  new  free  life  in  India  very  good.  It  does 
look  attractive  in  the  beginning,  from  a  sub- 
altern's point  of  view — all  ponies,  partners, 
dancing,  and  so  on.  He  tasted  it  as  the  puppy 
tastes  the  soap.  Only  he  came  late  to  the  eat- 
ing, with  a  grown  set  of  teeth.  He  had  no 
sense  of  balance — just  like  the  puppy — and 
could  not  understand  why  he  was  not  treated 
with  the  consideration  he  received  under  his 
father's  roof.     This  hurt  his  feelings. 

He  quarreled  with  other  boys,  and,  being 
sensitive  to  the  marrow,  remembered  these 
quarrels,  and  they  excited  him.  He  found 
whist,  and  gymkhanas,  and  things  of  that  kind 
(meant  to  amuse  one  after  office)  good;  but 
he  took  them  seriously  too,  just  as  seriously  as 


THROWN  AWAY  27 

he  took  the  "head"  that  followed  after  drink. 
He  lost  his  money  over  whist  and  gymkhanas 
because  they  were  new  to  him. 

He  took  his  losses  seriously,  and  wasted  as 
much  energy  and  interest  over  a  two-gold- 
mohur  race  for  maiden  £&£a-ponies  with  their 
manes  hogged,  as  if  it  had  been  the  Derby. 
One  half  of  this  came  from  inexperience — 
much  as  the  puppy  squabbles  with  the  corner 
of  the  hearth-rug — and  the  other  half  from  the 
dizziness  bred  by  stumbling  out  of  his  quiet 
life  into  the  glare  and  excitement  of  a  livelier 
one.  No  one  told  him  about  the  soap  and  the 
blacking,  because  an  average  man  takes  it  for 
granted  that  an  average  man  is  ordinarily  care- 
ful in  regard  to  them.  It  was  pitiful  to  watch 
The  Boy  knocking  himself  to  pieces,  as  an  over- 
handled  colt  falls  down  and  cuts  himself  when 
he  gets  away  from  the  groom. 

This  unbridled  license  in  amusements  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  breaking  line  for,  much 
less  rioting  over,  endured  for  six  months — all 
through  one  cold  weather — and  then  we 
thought  that  the  heat  and  the  knowledge  of 
having  lost  his  money  and  health  and  lamed 
his  horses  would  sober  The  Boy  down,  and  he 
would  stand  steady.  In  ninety-nine  cases  out 
of  a  hundred  this  would  have  happened.    You 


28  THROWN  AWAY 

can  see  the  principle  working  in  any  Indian 
Station.  But  this  particular  case  fell  through 
because  The  Boy  was  sensitive  and  took  things 
seriously — as  I  may  have  said  some  seven  times 
before.  Of  course,  we  could  not  tell  how  his 
excesses  struck  him  personally.  They  were 
nothing  very  heartbreaking  or  above  the  aver- 
age. He  might  be  crippled  for  life  financially, 
and  want  a  little  nursing.  Still  the  memory  of 
his  performances  would  wither  away  in  one 
hot  weather,  and  the  bankers  would  help  him 
to  tide  over  the  money-troubles.  But  he  must 
have  taken  another  view  altogether  and  have 
believed  himself  ruined  beyond  redemption. 
His  Colonel  talked  to  him  severely  when  the 
cold  weather  ended.  That  made  him  more 
wretched  than  ever;  and  it  was  only  an  ordi- 
nary "Colonel's  wigging" ! 

What  follows  is  a  curious  instance  of  the 
fashion  in  which  we  are  all  linked  together  and 
made  responsible  for  one  another.  The  thing 
that  kicked  the  beam  in  The  Boy's  mind  was 
a  remark  that  a  woman  made  when  he  was 
talking  to  her.  There  is  no  use  in  repeating 
it,  for  it  was  only  a  cruel  little  sentence,  rapped 
out  before  thinking,  that  made  him  flush  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  He  kept  himself  to  himself 
for  three  days,  and  then  put  in  for  two  days' 


THROWN  AWAY  29 

leave  to  go  shooting  near  a  Canal  Engineer's 
Rest  House  about  thirty  miles  out.  He  got  his 
leave,  and  that  night  at  Mess  was  noisier  and 
more  offensive  than  ever.  He  said  that  he  was 
"going  to  shoot  big  game,"  and  left  at  half- 
past  ten  o'clock  in  an  ekka.  Partridge — which 
was  the  only  thing  a  man  could  get  near  the 
Rest  House — is  not  big  game;  so  every  one 
laughed. 

Next  morning  one  of  the  Majors  came  in 
from  short  leave,  and  heard  that  The  Boy  had 
gone  out  to  shoot  "big  game."  The  Major 
had  taken  an  interest  in  The  Boy,  and  had, 
more  than  once,  tried  to  check  him.  The 
Major  put  up  his  eyebrows  when  he  heard  of 
the  expedition  and  went  to  The  Boy's  rooms 
where  he  rummaged. 

Presently  he  came  out  and  found  me  leaving 
cards  on  the  Mess.  There  was  no  one  else  in 
the  ante-room. 

He  said,  "The  Boy  has  gone  out  shooting. 
Does  a  man  shoot  tehir  with  a  revolver  and 
writing-case  ?" 

I  said,  "Nonsense,  Major!"  for  I  saw  what 
was  in  his  mind. 

He  said,  "Nonsense  or  no  nonsense,  I'm  go- 
ing to  the  Canal  now — at  once.  I  don't  feel 
easy." 


3o  THROWN  AWAY 

Then  he  thought  for  a  minute,  and  said, 
"Can  you  lie?" 

"You  know  best,"  I  answered.  "It's  my 
profession." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Major,  "you  must 
come  out  with  me  now — at  once — in  an  ekka 
to  the  Canal  to  shoot  black-buck.  Go  and  put 
on  shikar — kit — quick — and  drive  here  with  a 
gun." 

The  Major  was  a  masterful  man;  and  I 
knew  that  he  would  not  give  orders  for  noth- 
ing. So  I  obeyed,  and  on  return  found  the 
Major  packed  up  in  an  ckka — gun-cases  and 
food  slung  below — all  ready  for  a  shooting- 
trip. 

He  dismissed  the  driver  and  drove  himself. 
We  jogged  along  quietly  while  in  the  station ; 
but,  as  soon  as  we  got  to  the  dusty  road  across 
the  plains,  he  made  that  pony  fly.  A  country- 
bred  can  do  nearly  anything  at  a  pinch.  We 
covered  the  thirty  miles  in  under  three  hours, 
but  the  poor  brute  was  nearly  dead. 

Once  I  said,  "What's  the  blazing  hurry,  Ma- 
jor?" 

He  said,  quietly,  "The  Boy  has  been  alone, 
by  himself  for — one,  two,  five, — fourteen 
hours  now!  I  tell  you,  I  don't  feel  easy." 

This  uneasiness  spread  itself  to  me,  and  I 
helped  to  beat  the  pony. 


THROWN  AWAY  31 

When  we  came  to  the  Canal  Engineer's  Rest 
House  the  Major  called  for  The  Boy's  servant; 
but  there  was  no  answer.  Then  we  went  up  to 
the  house,  calling  for  The  Boy  by  name;  but 
there  was  no  answer. 

"Oh,  he's  out  shooting,"  said  I. 

Just  then,  I  saw  through  one  of  the  windows 
a  little  hurricane-lamp  burning.  This  was  at 
four  in  the  afternoon.  We  both  stopped  dead 
in  the  verandah,  holding  our  breath  to  catch 
every  sound ;  and  we  heard,  inside  the  room 
the  "brr — brr — brr"  of  a  multitude  of  flies. 
The  Major  said  nothing,  but  he  took  off  his 
helmet  and  we  entered  very  softly. 

The  Boy  was  dead  on  the  bed  in  the  centre 
of  the  bare,  lime-washed  room.  He  had  shot 
his  head  nearly  to  pieces  with  his  revolver. 
The  gun-cases  were  still  strapped,  so  was  the 
bedding,  and  on  the  table  lay  The  Boy's  writ- 
ing-case with  photographs.  He  had  gone  away 
to  die  like  a  poisoned  rat ! 

The  Major  said  to  himself,  softly,  "Poor 
Boy!  Poor,  poor  devil!"  Then  he  turned 
away  from  the  bed  and  said,  "I  want  your  help 
in  this  business." 

Knowing  The  Boy  was  dead  by  his  own 
hand,  I  saw  exactly  what  that  help  would  be, 
so  I  passed  over  to  the  table,  took  a  chair,  lit  a 


32  THROWN  AWAY 

cheroot,  and  began  to  go  through  the  writing- 
case;  the  Major  looking  over  my  shoulder  and 
repeating  to  himself,  "We  came  too  late! — Like 
a  rat  in  a  hole ! — Poor,  poor  devil !" 

The  Boy  must  have  spent  half  the  night  in 
writing  to  his  people,  to  his  Colonel,  and  to  a 
girl  at  Home;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  finished, 
must  have  shot  himself,  for  he  had  been  dead  a 
long  time  when  we  came  in. 

I  read  all  that  he  had  written,  and  passed 
over  each  sheet  to  the  Major  as  I  finished  it. 

We  saw  from  his  accounts  how  very  seri- 
ously he  had  taken  everything.  He  wrote 
about  "disgrace  which  he  was  unable  to 
bear" — "indelible  shame" — "criminal  folly" — 
"wasted  life,"  and  so  on;  besides  a  lot  of 
private  things  to  his  father  and  mother  much 
too  sacred  to  put  into  print.  The  letter  to  the 
girl  at  Home  was  the  most  pitiful  of  all;  and 
I  choked  as  I  read  it.  The  Major  made  no  at- 
tempt to  keep  dry-eyed.  I  respected  him  for 
that.  He  read  and  rocked  himself  to  and  fro, 
and  simply  cried  like  a  woman  without  caring 
to  hide  it.  The  letters  were  so  dreary  and 
hopeless  and  touching.  We  forgot  all  about 
The  Boy's  follies,  and  only  thought  of  the  poor 
Thing  on  the  bed  and  the  scrawled  sheets  in 
our  hands.    It  was  utterly  impossible  to  let  the 


THROWN  AWAY  33 

letters  go  Home.  They  would  have  broken 
his  father's  heart  and  killed  his  mother  after 
killing  her  belief  in  her  son. 

At  last  the  Major  dried  his  eyes  openly,  and 
said,  "Nice  sort  of  thing  to  spring  on  an  Eng- 
lish family !    What  shall  we  do  ?" 

I  said,  knowing  what  the  Major  had  brought 
me  out  for,  "The  Boy  died  of  cholera.  We 
were  with  him  at  the  time.  We  can't  commit 
ourselves  to  half -measures.    Come  along." 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  grimly  comic 
scenes  I  have  ever  taken  part  in — the  concoc- 
tion of  a  big,  written  lie,  bolstered  with  evi- 
dence, to  soothe  The  Boy's  people  at  Home.  I 
began  the  rough  draft  of  the  letter,  the  Major 
throwing  in  hints  here  and  there  while  he  gath- 
ered up  all  the  stuff  that  The  Boy  had  written 
and  burned  it  in  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  hot,  still 
evening  when  we  began,  and  the  lamp  burned 
very  badly.  In  due  course  I  made  the  draft  to 
my  satisfaction,  setting  forth  how  The  Boy 
was  the  pattern  of  all  virtues,  beloved  by  his 
regiment,  with  every  promise  of  a  great  career 
before  him,  and  so  on ;  how  we  had  helped  him 
through  the  sickness — it  was  no  time  for  little 
lies  you  will  understand — and  how  he  had  died 
without  pain.  I  choked  while  I  was  putting 
down  these  things  and  thinking  of  the  poor 


34 


THROWN  AWAY 


people  who  would  read  them.  Then  I  laughed 
at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  affair,  and  the 
laughter  mixed  itself  up  with  the  choke — and 
the  Major  said  that  we  both  wanted  drinks. 

I  am  afraid  to  say  how  much  whisky  we 
drank  before  the  letter  was  finished.  It  had 
not  the  least  effect  on  us.  Then  we  took  off 
The  Boy's  watch,  locket,  and  rings. 

Lastly,  the  Major  said,  "We  must  send  a 
lock  of  hair,  too.     A  woman  values  that." 

But  there  were  reasons  why  we  could  not 
find  a  lock  fit  to  send.  The  Boy  was  black- 
haired,  and  so  was  the  Major,  luckily.  I  cut 
off  a  piece  of  the  Major's  hair  above  the  temple 
with  a  knife,  and  put  it  into  the  packet  we 
were  making.  The  laughing-fit  and  the  chokes 
got  hold  of  me  again,  and  I  had  to  stop.  The 
Major  was  nearly  as  bad;  and  we  both  knew 
that  the  worst  part  of  the  work  was  to  come. 

We  sealed  up  the  packet,  photographs, 
locket,  seals,  ring,  letter,  and  lock  of  hair  with 
The  Boy's  sealing-wax  and  The  Boy's  seal. 

Then  the  Major  said,  "For  God's  sake,  let's 
get  outside — away  from  the  room — and 
think!" 

We  went  outside,  and  walked  on  the  banks 
of  the  Canal  for  an  hour,  eating  and  drinking 
what  we  had  with  us,  until  the  moon  rose.     I 


THROWN  AWAY  35 

know  now  exactly  how  a  murderer  feels. 
Finally,  we  forced  ourselves  back  to  the  room 
with  the  lamp  and  the  Other  Thing  in  it,  and 
began  to  take  up  the  next  piece  of  work.  I 
am  not  going  to  write  about  this.  It  was  too 
horrible.  We  burned  the  bedstead  and  dropped 
the  ashes  into  the  Canal ;  we  took  up  the  mat- 
ting of  the  room  and  treated  that  in  the  same 
way.  I  went  off  to  a  village  and  borrowed  two 
big  hoes, — I  did  not  want  the  villagers  to  help, 
— while  the  Major  arranged — the  other  mat- 
ters. It  took  us  four  hours'  hard  work  to  make 
the  grave.  As  we  worked,  we  argued  out 
whether  it  was  right  to  say  as  much  as  we  re- 
membered of  the  Burial  of  the  Dead.  We 
compromised  things  by  saying  the  Lord's 
Prayer  with  a  private  unofficial  prayer  for  the 
peace  of  the  soul  of  The  Boy.  Then  we  filled 
in  the  grave  and  went  into  the  verandah — not 
the  house — to  lie  down  to  sleep.  We  were 
dead-tired. 

When  we  woke  the  Major  said,  wearily, 
"We  can't  go  back  till  to-morrow.  We  must 
give  him  a  decent  time  to  die  in.  He  died  early 
this  morning,  remember.  That  seems  more 
natural."  So  the  Major  must  have  been  lying 
awake  all  the  time,  thinking. 

I  said,  "Then  why  didn't  we  bring  the  body 
back  to  cantonments?" 


36  THROWN  AWAY 

The  Major  thought  for  a  minute.  "Be- 
cause the  people  bolted  when  they  heard  of  the 
cholera.    And  the  ekka has  gone !" 

That  was  strictly  true.  We  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  ekka-pony,  and  he  had  gone  home. 

So  we  were  left  there  alone,  all  that  stifling 
day,  in  the  Canal  Rest  House,  testing  and  re- 
testing  our  story  of  The  Boy's  death  to  see  if 
it  was  weak  in  any  point.  A  native  appeared 
in  the  afternoon,  but  we  said  that  a  Sahib  was 
dead  of  cholera,  and  he  ran  away.  As  the  dusk 
gathered,  the  Major  told  me  all  his  fears  about 
The  Boy,  and  awful  stories  of  suicide  or 
nearly-carried-out  suicide — tales  that  made 
one's  hair  crisp.  He  said  that  he  himself  had 
once  gone  into  the  same  Valley  of  the  Shadow 
as  The  Boy,  when  he  was  young  and  new  to 
the  country;  so  he  understood  how  things 
fought  together  in  The  Boy's  poor  jumbled 
head.  He  also  said  that  youngsters,  in  their 
repentant  moments,  consider  their  sins  much 
more  serious  and  ineffaceable  than  they  really 
are.  We  talked  together  all  through  the  even- 
ing and  rehearsed  the  story  of  the  death  of 
The  Boy.  As  soon  as  the  moon  was  up,  and 
The  Boy,  theoretically,  just  buried,  we  struck 
across  country  for  the  Station.  We  walked 
from  eight  till  six  o'clock  in  the  morning;  but 


THROWN  AWAY  37 

though  we  were  dead-tired,  we  did  not  forget 
to  go  to  The  Boy's  rooms  and  put  away  his  re- 
volver with  the  proper  amount  of  cartridges  in 
the  pouch.  Also  to  set  his  writing-case  on  the 
table.  We  found  the  Colonel  and  reported  the 
death,  feeling  more  like  murderers  than  ever. 
Then  we  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  clock  round ; 
for  there  was  no  more  in  us. 

The  tale  had  credence  as  long  as  was  neces- 
sary; for  every  one  forgot  about  The  Boy  be- 
fore a  fortnight  was  over.  Many  people,  how- 
ever, found  time  to  say  that  the  Major  had 
behaved  scandalously  in  not  bringing  in  the 
body  for  a  regimental  funeral.  The  saddest 
thing  of  all  was  the  letter  from  The  Boy's 
mother  to  the  Major  and  me — with  big  inky 
blisters  all  over  the  sheet.  She  wrote  the  sweet- 
est possible  things  about  our  great  kindness, 
and  the  obligation  she  would  be  under  to  us  as 
long  as  she  lived. 

All  things  considered,  she  was  under  an  ob- 
ligation; but  not  exactly  as  she  meant. 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 


When   Man   and   Woman  are   agreed,   what  can   the 
Kazi  do? — Proverb. 


SOME  people  say  that  there  is  no  romance 
in  India.  Those  people  are  wrong.  Our 
lives  hold  quite  as  much  romance  as  is  good 
for  us.     Sometimes  more. 

Strickland  was  in  the  Police,  and  people  did 
not  understand  him;  so  they  said  he  was  a 
doubtful  sort  of  man  and  passed  by  on  the 
other  side.  Strickland  had  himself  to  thank  for 
this.  He  held  the  extraordinary  theory  that 
a  Policeman  in  India  should  try  to  know  as 
much  about  the  natives  as  the  natives  them- 
selves. Now,  in  the  whole  of  Upper  India, 
there  is  only  one  man  who  can  pass  for  Hindu 
or  Mohammedan,  hide-dresser  or  priest,  as  he 
pleases.  He  is  feared  and  respected  by  the 
natives  from  the  Ghor  Kathri  to  the  Jamma 
Musjid;  and  he  is  supposed  to  have  the  gift  of 
invisibility  and  executive  control  over  many 
Devils.  But  this  has  done  him  no  good  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Indian  Government. 
4i 


42  MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

Strickland  was  foolish  enough  to  take  that 
man  for  his  model ;  and,  following  out  his  ab- 
surd theory,  dabbled  in  unsavory  places  no  re- 
spectable man  would  think  of  exploring — all 
among  the  native  riff-raff.  He  educated  him- 
self in  this  peculiar  way  for  seven  years,  and 
people  could  not  appreciate  it.  He  was  per- 
petually "going  Fantee"  among  natives,  which, 
of  course,  no  man  with  any  sense  believes  in. 
He  was  initiated  into  the  Sat  Bhai  at  Alla- 
habad once,  when  he  was  on  leave ;  he  knew  the 
Lizzard-Song  of  the  Sansis,  and  the  Hdlli- 
Hukk  dance,  which  is  a  religious  can-can  of  a 
startling  kind.  When  a  man  knows  who  dance 
the  Hdlli-Hukk,  and  how,  and  when,  and 
where,  he  knows  something  to  be  proud  of.  He 
has  gone  deeper  than  the  skin.  But  Strickland 
was  not  proud,  though  he  had  helped  once,  at 
Jagadhri,  at  the  Painting  of  the  Death  Bull, 
which  no  Englishman  must  even  look  upon; 
had  mastered  the  thieves'-patter  of  the  chdn- 
gars;  had  taken  a  Eusufzai  horse-thief  alone 
near  Attock ;  and  had  stood  under  the  sound- 
ing-board of  a  Border  mosque  and  conducted 
service  in  the  manner  of  a  Sunni  Molloh. 

His  crowning  achievement  was  spending 
eleven  davs  as  a  faquir  or  priest  in  the  gardens 
of  Baba  Atal  at  Amritsar,  and  there  picking  up 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  43 

the  threads  of  the  great  Nasiban  Murder  Case. 
But  people  said,  justly  enough,  "Why  on  earth 
can't  Strickland  sit  in  his  office  and  write  up 
his  diary,  and  recruit,  and  keep  quiet,  instead  of 
showing  up  the  incapacity  of  his  seniors?"  So 
the  Nasiban  Murder  Case  did  him  no  good  de- 
partmentally ;  but,  after  his  first  feeling  of 
wrath,  he  returned  to  his  outlandish  custom  of 
prying  into  native  life.  When  a  man  once  ac- 
quires a  taste  for  this  particular  amusement,  it 
abides  with  him  all  his  days.  It  is  the  most 
fascinating  thing  in  the  world;  Love  not  ex- 
cepted. Where  other  men  took  ten  days  to  the 
Hills,  Strickland  took  leave  for  what  he  called 
shikar,  put  on  the  disguise  that  appealed  to  him 
at  the  time,  stepped  down  into  the  brown 
crowd,  and  was  swallowed  up  for  a  while.  He 
was  a  quiet,  dark  young  fellow — spare,  black- 
eyed — and,  when  he  was  not  thinking  of  some- 
thing else,  a  very  interesting  companion. 
Strickland  on  Native  Progress  as  he  had  seen 
it  was  worth  hearing.  Natives  hated  Strick- 
land ;  but  they  were  afraid  of  him.  He  knew 
too  much. 

When  the  Youghals  came  into  the  station, 
Strickland — very  gravely,  as  he  did  everything 
— fell  in  love  with  Miss  Youghal ;  and  she, 
after  a  while,  fell  in  love  with  him  because  she 


44  MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

could  not  understand  him.  Then  Strickland 
told  the  parents ;  but  Mrs.  Youghal  said  she 
was  not  going  to  throw  her  daughter  into  the 
worst  paid  Department  in  the  Empire,  and  old 
Youghal  said,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  mis- 
trusted Strickland's  ways  and  works,  and 
would  thank  him  not  to  speak  or  write  to  his 
daughter  any  more.  "Very  well,"  said  Strick- 
land, for  he  did  not  wish  to  make  his  lady- 
love's life  a  burden.  After  one  long  talk  with 
Miss  Youghal  he  dropped  the  business  entirely. 

The  Youghals  went  up  to  Simla  in  April. 

In  July  Strickland  secured  three  months' 
leave  on  "urgent  private  affairs."  He  locked 
up  his  house — though  not  a  native  in  the 
Province  would  wittingly  have  touched  "Es- 
treekin  Sahib's"  gear  for  the  world — and  went 
down  to  see  a  friend  of  his,  an  old  dyer,  at 
Tarn  Taran. 

Here  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  until  a  sais 
or  groom  met  me  on  the  Simla  Mall  with  this 
extraordinary  note: 

Dear  Old  Man, — Please  give  bearer  a  box  of  che- 
roots— Supers,  No.  I,  for  preference.  They  are  fresh- 
est at  the  Club.  I'll  repay  when  I  reappear;  but  at 
present  I'm  out  of  society.  Yours, 

E.  Strickland. 

I  ordered  two  boxes,  and  handed  them  over 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  45 

to  the  sais  with  my  love.  That  sais  was  Strick- 
land, and  he  was  in  old  Youghal's  employ,  at- 
tached to  Miss  Youghal's  Arab.  The  poor  fel- 
low was  suffering  for  an  English  smoke,  and 
knew  that,  whatever  happened,  I  should  hold 
my  tongue  till  the  business  was  over. 

Later  on,  Mrs.  Youghal,  who  was  wrapped 
up  in  her  servants,  began  talking  at  houses 
where  she  called  of  her  paragon  among  saises 
— the  man  who  was  never  too  busy  to  get  up 
in  the  morning  and  pick  flowers  for  the  break- 
fast-table, and  who  blacked — actually  blacked 
— the  hoofs  of  his  horse  like  a  London  coach- 
man! The  turnout  of  Miss  Youghal's  Arab 
was  a  wonder  and  a  delight.  Strickland — 
Dulloo,  I  mean — found  his  reward  in  the  pretty 
things  that  Miss  Youghal  said  to  him  when 
she  went  out  riding.  Her  parents  were  pleased 
to  find  she  had  forgotten  all  her  foolishness  for 
young  Strickland  and  said  she  was  a  good  girl. 

Strickland  vows  that  the  two  months  of  his 
service  were  the  most  rigid  mental  discipline  he 
has  ever  gone  through.  Quite  apart  from  the 
little  fact  that  the  wife  of  one  of  his  fellow- 
saises  fell  in  love  with  him  and  then  tried  to 
poison  him  with  arsenic  because  he  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  her,  he  had  to  school  him- 
self into  keeping  quiet  when   Miss  Youghal 


46  MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

went  out  riding  with  some  man  who  tried  to 
flirt  with  her,  and  he  was  forced  to  trot  behind 
carrying  the  blanket  and  hearing  every  word! 
Also,  he  had  to  keep  his  temper  when  he  was 
slanged  in  the  theatre  porch  by  a  policeman — 
especially  once  when  he  was  abused  by  a  Naik 
he  had  himself  recruited  from  Isser  village — 
or,  worse  still,  when  a  young  subaltern  called 
him  a  pig  for  not  making  way  quickly  enough. 

But  the  life  had  its  compensations.  He  ob- 
tained great  insight  into  the  ways  and  thefts 
of  saises — enough  he  says  to  have  summarily 
convicted  half  the  population  of  the  Punjab  if 
he  had  been  on  business.  He  became  one  of 
the  leading  players  at  knuckle-bones,  which  all 
jhampanis  and  many  saises  play  while  they  are 
waiting  outside  the  Government  House  or  the 
Gaiety  Theatre  of  nights ;  he  learned  to  smoke 
tobacco  that  was  three-fourths  cowdung;  and 
he  heard  the  wisdom  of  the  grizzled  Jemadar 
of  the  Government  House  grooms.  Whose 
words  are  valuable.  He  saw  many  things 
which  amused  him;  and  he  states,  on  honor, 
that  no  man  can  appreciate  Simla  properly,  till 
he  has  seen  it  from  the  sais's  point  of  view.  He 
also  says  that,  if  he  chose  to  write  all  he  saw, 
his  head  would  be  broken  in  several  places. 

Strickland's  account  of  the  agony  he  endured 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  47 

on  wet  nights,  hearing  the  music  and  seeing 
the  lights  in  "Benmore"  with  his  toes  tingling 
for  a  waltz  and  his  head  in  a  horse-blanket,  is 
rather  amusing.  One  of  these  days  Strickland 
is  going  to  write  a  little  book  on  his  experi- 
ences. That  book  will  be  worth  buying;  and 
even  more  worth  suppressing. 

Thus,  he  served  faithfully  as  Jacob  served 
for  Rachel ;  and  his  leave  was  nearly  at  an  end 
when  the  explosion  came.  He  had  really  done 
his  best  to  keep  his  temper  in  the  hearing  of  the 
flirtations  I  have  mentioned ;  but  he  broke  down 
at  last.  An  old  and  very  distinguished  General 
took  Miss  Youghal  for  a  ride,  and  began  that 
specially  offensive  "you're-only-a-little-girl" 
sort  of  flirtation — most  difficult  for  a  woman 
to  turn  aside  deftly,  and  most  maddening  to 
listen  to.  Miss  Youghal  was  shaking  with  fear 
at  the  things  he  said  in  the  hearing  of  her  sais. 
Duloo — Strickland — stood  it  as  long  as  he 
could.  Then  he  caught  hold  of  the  General's 
bridle,  and,  in  most  fluent  English,  invited  him 
to  step  off  and  be  flung  over  the  cliff.  Next 
minute,  Miss  Youghal  began  to  cry;  and 
Strickland  saw  that  he  had  hopelessly  given 
himself  away,  and  everything  was  over. 

The  General  nearly  had  a  fit,  while  Miss 
Youghal  was  sobbing  out  the  story  of  the  dis- 


48  MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

guise  and  the  engagement  that  was  not  recog- 
nized by  the  parents.  Strickland  was  furious- 
ly angry  with  himself,  and  more  angry  with 
the  General  for  forcing  his  hand;  so  he  said 
nothing,  but  held  the  horse's  head  and  pre- 
pared to  thrash  the  General  as  some  sort  of 
satisfaction.  But  when  the  General  had  thor- 
oughly grasped  the  story,  and  knew  who 
Strickland  was,  he  began  to  puff  and  blow  in 
the  saddle,  and  nearly  rolled  off  with  laugh- 
ing. He  said  Strickland  deserved  a  V.  C., 
if  it  were  only  for  putting  on  a  sais's  blanket. 
Then  he  called  himself  names,  and  vowed  that 
he  deserved  a  thrashing,  but  he  was  too  old  to 
take  it  from  Strickland.  Then  he  compli- 
mented Miss  Youghal  on  her  lover.  The  scan- 
dal of  the  business  never  struck  him;  for  he 
was  a  nice  old  man,  with  a  weakness  for  flir- 
tations. Then  he  laughed  again,  and  said  that 
old  Youghal  was  a  fool.  Strickland  let  go  of 
the  cob's  head,  and  suggested  that  the  General 
had  better  help  them,  if  that  was  his  opinion. 
Strickland  knew  Youghal's  weakness  for  men 
with  titles  and  letters  after  their  names  and 
high  official  position.  "It's  rather  like  a  forty- 
minute  farce,"  said  the  General,  "but,  begad,  I 
will  help,  if  it's  only  to  escape  that  tremendous 
thrashing  I  deserve.     Go  along  to  your  home, 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  49 

my  jaw-policeman,  and  change  into  decent  kit, 
and  I'll  attack  Mr.  Youghal.  Miss  Youghal, 
may  I  ask  you  to  canter  home  and  wait  ?" 

4c  $  $  $  $  $ 

About  seven  minutes  later,  there  was  a  wild 
hurroosh  at  the  Club.  A  sais,  with  blanket  and 
headrobe,  was  asking  all  the  men  he  knew : 
"For  Heaven's  sake  lend  me  decent  clothes!" 
As  the  men  did  not  recognize  him,  there  were 
some  peculiar  scenes  before  Strickland  could 
get  a  hot  bath,  with  soda  in  it,  in  one  room,  a 
shirt  here,  a  collar  there,  a  pair  of  trousers  else- 
where, and  so  on.  He  galloped  off,  with  half 
the  Club  wardrobe  on  his  back,  and  an  utter 
stranger's  pony  under  him,  to  the  house  of  old 
Youghal.  The  General,  arrayed  in  purple  and 
fine  linen,  was  before  him.  What  the  General 
had  said  Strickland  never  knew,  but  Youghal 
received  Strickland  with  moderate  civility;  and 
Mrs.  Youghal,  touched  by  the  devotion  of  the 
transformed  Dulloo,  was  almost  kind.  The 
General  beamed  and  chuckled,  and  Miss  You- 
ghal came  in,  and,  almost  before  old  Youghal 
knew  where  he  was,  the  parental  consent  had 
been  wrenched  out,  and  Strickland  had  de- 
parted with  Youghal  to  the  Telegraph  Office 
to  wire  for  his  European  kit.     The  final  em- 


50  MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS 

barrassment  was  when  a  stranger  attacked  him 
on  the  Mall  and  asked  for  the  stolen  pony. 

In  the  end,  Strickland  and  Miss  Youghal 
were  married,  on  the  strict  understanding  that 
Strickland  should  drop  his  old  ways,  and  stick 
to  Departmental  routine,  which  pays  best  and 
leads  to  Simla.  Strickland  was  far  too  fond 
of  his  wife,  just  then,  to  break  his  word,  but 
it  was  a  sore  trial  to  him;  for  the  streets  and 
the  bazars,  and  the  sounds  in  them,  were  full 
of  meaning  to  Strickland,  and  these  called  to 
him  to  come  back  and  take  up  his  wanderings 
and  his  discoveries.  Some  day,  I  will  tell  you 
how  he  broke  his  promise,  to  help  a  friend. 
That  was  long  since,  and  he  has,  by  this  time, 
been  nearly  spoiled  for  what  he  would  call 
shikar.  He  is  forgetting  the  slang,  and  the 
beggar's  cant,  and  the  marks  and  the  signs,  and 
the  drift  of  the  under-currents,  which,  if  a  man 
would  master,  he  must  always  continue  to 
learn. 

But  he  fills  in  his  Departmental  returns  beau- 
tifully. 


'YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER" 


"YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER" 

I  am  dying  for  you,  and  you  are  dying  for  another. 

Punjabi  Proverb. 

WHEN  the  Gravesend  tender  left  the  P.  & 
O.  steamer  for  Bombay  and  went  back 
to  catch  the  train  to  Town,  there  were  many 
people  in  it  crying.  But  the  one  who  wept 
most,  and  most  openly,  was  Miss  Agnes  Laiter. 
She  had  reason  to  cry,  because  the  only  man  she 
ever  loved — or  ever  could  love,  so  she  said — 
was  going  out  to  India ;  and  as  every  one 
knows,  is  divided  equally  between  jungle, 
tigers,  cobras,  cholera,  and  sepoys. 

Phil  Garron,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
steamer  in  the  rain,  felt  very  unhappy  too ;  but 
he  did  not  cry.  He  was  sent  out  to  "tea." 
What  "tea"  meant  he  had  not  the  vaguest  idea, 
but  fancied  that  he  would  have  to  ride  on  a 
prancing  horse  over  hills  covered  with  tea- 
vines,  and  draw  a  sumptuous  salary  for  doing 
so;  and  he  was  very  grateful  to  his  uncle  for 
getting  him  the  berth.  He  was  really  going  to 
reform  all  his  slack,  shiftless  ways,  save  a  large 
53 


54  "YOKED  WITH 

proportion  of  his  magnificent  salary  yearly, 
and,  in  a  very  short  time,  return  to  marry 
Agnes  Laiter.  Phil  Garron  had  been  lying 
loose  on  his  friends'  hands  for  three  years,  and, 
as  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  naturally  fell  in 
love.  He  was  very  nice ;  but  he  was  not  strong 
in  his  views  and  opinions  and  principles,  and 
though  he  never  came  to  actual  grief,  his 
friends  were  thankful  when  he  said  good-bye, 
and  went  out  to  this  mysterious  "tea"  business 
near  Darjiling.  They  said,  "God  bless  you, 
dear  boy!  Let  us  never  see  your  face  again," 
— or  at  least  that  was  what  Phil  was  given  to 
understand. 

When  he  sailed,  he  was  very  full  of  a  great 
plan  to  prove  himself  several  hundred  times 
better  than  any  one  had  given  him  credit  for — 
to  work  like  a  horse,  and  triumphantly  marry 
Agnes  Laiter.  He  had  many  good  points  be- 
sides his  good  looks ;  his  only  fault  being  that 
he  was  weak,  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
weak.  He  had  as  much  notion  of  economy  as 
the  Morning  Sun;  and  yet  you  could  not  lay 
your  hand  on  any  one  item,  and  say,  "Herein 
Phil  Garron  is  extravagant  or  reckless."  Nor 
could  you  point  out  any  particular  vice  in  his 
character;  but  he  was  "unsatisfactory"  and  as 
workable  as  putty. 


AN  UNBELIEVER"  55 

Agnes  Laiter  went  about  her  duties  at  home 
— her  family  objected  to  the  engagement — 
with  red  eyes,  while  Phil  was  sailing  to  Darjil- 
ing — a  "port  on  the  Bengal  Ocean,"  as  his 
mother  used  to  tell  her  friends.  He  was  pop- 
ular enough  on  board-ship,  made  many  ac- 
quaintances and  a  moderately  large  liquor-bill, 
and  sent  off  huge  letters  to  Agnes  Laiter  at 
each  port.  Then  he  fell  to  work  on  this  plan- 
tation, somewhere  between  Darjiling  and  Kan- 
gra,  and,  though  the  salary  and  the  horse  and 
the  work  were  not  quite  all  he  had  fancied,  he 
succeeded  fairly  well,  and  gave  himself  much 
unnecessary  credit  for  his  perseverance. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  he  settled  more  into 
collar,  and  his  work  grew  fixed  before  him,  the 
face  of  Agnes  Laiter  went  out  of  his  mind  and 
only  came  when  he  was  at  leisure,  which  was 
not  often.  He  would  forget  all  about  her  for  a 
fortnight,  and  remember  her  with  a  start,  like  a 
schoolboy  who  has  forgotten  to  learn  his  les- 
son. She  did  not  forget  Phil,  because  she  was 
of  the  kind  that  never  forgets.  Only,  another 
man — a  really  desirable  young  man — presented 
himself  before  Mrs.  Laiter;  and  the  chance  of 
a  marriage  with  Phil  was  as  far  off  as  ever; 
and  his  letters  were  so  unsatisfactory;  and 
there  was  a  certain  amount  of  domestic  pres- 


56  "YOKED  WITH 

sure  brought  to  bear  on  the  girl ;  and  the  young 
man  really  was  an  eligible  person  as  incomes 
go;  and  the  end  of  all  things  was  that  Agnes 
married  him,  and  wrote  a  tempestuous  whirl- 
wind of  a  letter  to  Phil  in  the  wilds  of  Darjil- 
ing  and  said  she  should  never  know  a  happy 
moment  all  the  rest  of  her  life.  Which  was  a 
true  prophecy. 

Phil  received  that  letter,  and  held  himself 
ill-treated.  This  was  two  years  after  he  had 
come  out;  but  by  dint  of  thinking  fixedly  of 
Agnes  Laiter,  and  looking  at  her  photograph, 
and  patting  himself  on  the  back  for  being  one 
of  the  most  constant  lovers  in  history,  and 
warming  to  the  work  as  he  went  on,  he  really 
fancied  that  he  had  been  very  hardly  used.  He 
sat  down  and  wrote  one  final  letter — a  really 
pathetic  "world  without  end,  amen,"  epistle ; 
explaining  how  he  would  be  true  to  Eternity, 
and  that  all  women  were  very  much  alike,  and 
he  would  hide  his  broken  heart,  etc.,  etc. ;  but 
if,  at  any  future  time,  etc.,  etc.,  he  could  afford 
to  wait,  etc.,  etc.,  unchanged  affections,  etc., 
etc.,  return  to  her  old  love,  etc..  etc.,  for  eight 
closely-written  pages.  From  an  artistic  point 
of  view,  it  was  very  neat  work,  but  an  ordinary 
Philistine,  who  knew  the  state  of  Phil's  real 
feelings — not  the  ones  he  rose  to  as  he  went 


AN  UNBELIEVER"  57 

on  writing — would  have  called  it  the  thor- 
oughly mean  and  selfish  work  of  a  thoroughly 
mean  and  selfish  weak  man.  But  this  verdict 
would  have  been  incorrect.  Phil  paid  for  the 
postage,  and  felt  every  word  he  had  written 
for  at  least  two  days  and  a  half.  It  was  the 
last  flicker  before  the  light  went  out. 

That  letter  made  Agnes  Laiter  very  un- 
happy, and  she  cried  and  put  it  away  in  her 
desk,  and  became  Mrs.  Somebody  Else  for  the 
good  of  her  family.  Which  is  the  first  duty  of 
every  Christian  maid. 

Phil  went  his  ways,  and  thought  no  more  of 
his  letter,  except  as  an  artist  thinks  of  a  neatly 
touched-in  sketch.  His  ways  were  not  bad,  but 
they  were  not  altogether  good  until  they 
brought  him  across  Dunmaya,  the  daughter  of 
a  Rajput  ex-Subadar-Major  of  our  Native 
Army.  The  girl  had  a  strain  of  Hill  blood  in 
her,  and  like  the  Hill-women,  was  not  a  purdah- 
nashin  or  woman  who  lives  behind  the  veil. 
Where  Phil  met  her,  or  how  he  heard  of  her, 
does  not  matter.  She  was  a  good  girl  and 
handsome,  and,  in  her  way,  very  clever  and 
shrewd ;  though,  of  course,  a  little  hard.  It  is 
to  be  remembered  that  Phil  was  living  very 
comfortably,  denying  himself  no  small  luxury, 
never  putting  by  a  penny,  very  satisfied  with 


58  "YOKED  WITH 

himself  and  his  good  intentions,  was  dropping 
all  his  English  correspondents  one  by  one,  and 
beginning  more  and  more  to  look  upon  India  as 
his  home.  Some  men  fall  this  way;  and  they 
are  of  no  use  afterward.  The  climate  where  he 
was  stationed  was  good,  and  it  really  did  not 
seem  to  him  that  there  was  any  reason  to  return 
to  England. 

He  did  what  many  planters  have  done  before 
him — that  is  to  say,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
marry  a  Hill-girl  and  settle  down.  He  was 
seven-and-twenty  then,  with  a  long  life  before 
him,  but  no  spirit  to  go  through  with  it.  So 
he  married  Dunmaya  by  the  forms  of  the  Eng- 
lish Church,  and  some  fellow-planters  said  he 
was  a  fool,  and  some  said  he  was  a  wise  man. 
Dunmaya  was  a  thoroughly  honest  girl,  and  in 
spite  of  her  reverence  for  an  Englishman,  had 
a  reasonable  estimate  of  her  husband's  weak- 
nesses. She  managed  him  tenderly,  and  be- 
came, in  less  than  a  year,  a  very  passable  imi- 
tation of  an  English  lady  in  dress  and  carriage. 
It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  Hill-man  after  a 
life-time's  education  is  a  Hill-man  still;  but  a 
Hill-woman  can  in  six  months  master  most  of 
the  ways  of  her  English  sisters.  There  was  a 
coolie-woman  once.  But  that  is  another  story. 
Dunmaya  dressed  by  preference  in  black  and 
yellow  and  looked  well. 


AN  UNBELIEVER"  59 

Meantime  Phil's  letter  lay  in  Agnes  Laiter's 
desk,  and  now  and  again  she  would  think  of 
poor,  resolute,  hard-working  Phil  among  the 
cobras  and  tigers  of  Darjiling,  toiling  in  the 
vain  hope  that  she  might  come  back  to  him. 
Her  husband  was  worth  ten  Phils,  except  that 
he  had  rheumatism  of  the  heart.  Three  years 
after  he  was  married, — and  after  he  had  tried 
Nice  and  Algeria  for  his  complaint, — he  went 
to  Bombay,  where  he  died,  and  set  Agnes  free. 
Being  a  devout  woman,  she  looked  on  his  death 
and  the  place  of  it  as  a  direct  interposition  of 
Providence,  and  when  she  had  recovered  from 
the  shock,  she  took  out  and  re-read  Phil's  letter 
with  the  "etc.,  etc.,"  and  the  big  dashes,  and 
the  little  clashes,  and  kissed  it  several  times. 
No  one  knew  her  in  Bombay ;  she  had  her  hus- 
band's income,  which  was  a  large  one,  and  Phil 
was  close  at  hand.  It  was  wrong  and  improper, 
of  course,  but  she  decided,  as  heroines  do  in 
novels,  to  find  her  old  lover,  to  offer  him  her 
hand  and  her  gold,  and  with  him  spend  the  rest 
of  her  life  in  some  spot  far  from  unsympathetic 
souls.  She  sat  for  two  months,  alone  in  Wat- 
son's Hotel,  elaborating  this  decision,  and  the 
picture  was  a  pretty  one.  Then  she  set  out  in 
search  of  Phil  Garron,  Assistant  on  a  tea  plan- 
tation with  a  more  than  usually  unpronounce- 
able name. 


60  "YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER" 

She  found  him.  She  spent  a  month  over  it, 
for  his  plantation  was  not  in  the  Darjiling  dis- 
trict at  all,  but  nearer  Kangra.  Phil  was  very 
little  altered,  and  Dunmaya  was  very  nice  to 
her. 

Now  the  particular  sin  and  shame  of  the 
whole  business  is  that  Phil,  who  really  is  not 
worth  thinking  of  twice,  was  and  is  loved  by 
Dunmaya,  and  more  than  loved  by  Agnes,  the 
whole  of  whose  life  he  seems  to  have  spoiled. 

Worst  of  all,  Dunmaya  is  making  a  decent 
man  of  him;  and  he  will  ultimately  be  saved 
from  perdition  through  her  training. 

Which  is  manifestly  unfair. 


FALSE    DAWN 


FALSE  DAWN 

To-night  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 

The  Earth  is  racked  and  faint — 
Expectant,  sleepless,  open-eyed ; 
And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 

Thrill  with  our  Mother's  pain. 

— In  Durance. 

"VTO  man  will  ever  know  the  exact  truth  of 
*~  ^  this  story ;  though  women  may  sometimes 
whisper  it  to  one  another  after  a  dance,  when 
they  are  putting  up  their  hair  for  the  night  and 
comparing  lists  of  victims.  A  man,  of  course, 
cannot  assist  at  these  functions.  So  the  tale 
must  be  told  from  the  outside — in  the  dark — 
all  wrong. 

Never  praise  a  sister  to  a  sister,  in  the  hope 
of  your  compliments  reaching  the  proper  ears, 
and  so  preparing  the  way  for  you  later  on. 
Sisters  are  women  first,  and  sisters  afterward ; 
and  you  will  find  that  you  do  yourself  harm. 

Saumarez  knew  this  when  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  propose  to  the  elder  Miss  Copleigh. 
Saumarez  was  a  strange  man,  with  few  merits 

63 


64  FALSE  DAWN 

so  far  as  men  could  see,  though  he  was  popular 
with  women,  and  carried  enough  conceit  to 
stock  a  Viceroy's  Council  and  leave  a  little  over 
for  the  Commander-in-Chief's  Staff.  He  was 
a  Civilian.  Very  many  women  took  an  interest 
in  Saumarez,  perhaps  because  his  manner  to 
them  was  offensive.  If  you  hit  a  pony  over  the 
nose  at  the  outset  of  your  acquaintance,  he  may 
not  love  you,  but  he  will  take  a  deep  interest  in 
your  movements  ever  afterward.  The  elder 
Miss  Copleigh  was  nice,  plump,  winning,  and 
pretty.  The  younger  was  not  so  pretty,  and, 
from  men  disregarding  the  hint  set  forth  above, 
her  style  was  repellant  and  unattractive.  Both 
girls  had,  practically,  the  same  figure,  and  there 
was  a  strong  likeness  between  them  in  look  and 
voice ;  though  no  one  could  doubt  for  an  instant 
which  was  the  nicer  of  the  two. 

Saumarez  made  up  his  mind,  as  soon  as  they 
came  into  the  station  from  Behar,  to  marry  the 
elder  one.  At  least,  we  all  made  sure  that  he 
would,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  She 
was  two-and-twenty,  and  he  was  thirty-three, 
with  pay  and  allowances  of  nearly  fourteen 
hundred  rupees  a  month.  So  the  match,  as  we 
arranged  it,  was  in  every  way  a  good  one. 
Saumarez  was  his  name,  and  summary  was  his 
nature,  as  a  man  once  said.     Having  drafted 


FALSE  DAWN  65 

his  Resolution,  he  formed  a  Select  Committee 
of  One  to  sit  upon  it,  and  resolved  to  take  his 
time.  In  our  unpleasant  slang,  the  Copleigh 
girls  "hunted  in  couples."  That  is  to  say,  you 
could  do  nothing  with  one  without  the  other. 
They  were  very  loving  sisters ;  but  their  mu- 
tual affection  was  sometimes  inconvenient. 
Saumarez  held  the  balance-hair  true  between 
them,  and  none  but  himself  could  have  said  to 
which  side  his  heart  inclined ;  though  every  one 
guessed.  He  rode  with  them  a  good  deal  and 
danced  with  them,  but  he  never  succeeded  in 
detaching  them  from  each  other  for  any  length 
of  time. 

Women  said  that  the  two  girls  kept  together 
through  deep  mistrust,  each  fearing  that  the 
other  would  steal  a  march  on  her.  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  a  man.  Saumarez  was 
silent  for  good  or  bad,  and  as  business-likely 
attentive  as  he  could  be,  having  due  regard  to 
his  work  and  his  polo.  Beyond  doubt  both 
girls  were  fond  of  him. 

As  the  hot  weather  drew  nearer  and  Sau- 
marez made  no  sign,  women  said  that  you  could 
see  their  trouble  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls — that 
they  were  looking  strained,  anxious,  and 
irritable.  Men  are  quite  blind  in  these  matters 
unless  they  have  more  of  the  woman  than  the 


66  FALSE  DAWN 

man  in  their  composition,  in  which  case  it  does 
not  matter  what  they  say  or  think.  I  maintain 
it  was  the  hot  April  days  that  took  the  color 
out  of  the  Copleigh  girls'  cheeks.  They  should 
have  been  sent  to  the  Hills  early.  No  one — 
man  or  woman — feels  an  angel  when  the  hot 
weather  is  approaching.  The  younger  sister 
grew  more  cynical,  not  to  say  acid,  in  her  ways ; 
and  the  winningness  of  the  elder  wore  thin. 
There  was  effort  in  it. 

The  Station  wherein  all  these  things  hap- 
pened was,  though  not  a  little  one,  off  the  line 
of  rail,  and  suffered  through  want  of  attention. 
There  were  no  gardens,  or  bands  or  amuse- 
ments worth  speaking  of,  and  it  was  nearly  a 
day's  journey  to  come  into  Lahore  for  a  dance. 
People  were  grateful  for  small  things  to  inter- 
est them. 

About  the  beginning  of  May,  and  just  before 
the  final  exodus  of  Hill-goers,  when  the 
weather  was  very  hot  and  there  were  not  more 
than  twenty  people  in  the  Station,  Saumarez 
gave  a  moonlight  riding-picnic  at  an  old  tomb, 
six  miles  away,  near  the  bed  of  the  river.  It 
was  a  Noah's  Ark"  picnic;  and  there  was  to 
be  the  usual  arrangement  of  quarter-mile  in- 
tervals between  each  couple,  on  account  of  the 
dust.     Six  couples  came  altogether,  including 


FALSE  DAWN  67 

chaperones.  Moonlight  picnics  are  useful  just 
at  the  very  end  of  the  season,  before  all  the 
girls  go  away  to  the  Hills.  They  lead  to  un- 
derstandings, and  should  be  encouraged  by 
chaperones ;  especially  those  whose  girls  look 
sweetest  in  riding-habits.  I  knew  a  case  once. 
But  that  is  another  story.  That  picnic  was 
called  the  "Great  Pop  Picnic,"  because  every 
one  knew  Saumarez  would  propose  then  to  the 
eldest  Miss  Copleigh;  and,  besides  his  affair, 
there  was  another  which  might  possibly  come 
to  happiness.  The  social  atmosphere  was 
heavily  charged  and  wanted  clearing. 

We  met  at  the  parade-ground  at  ten:  the 
night  was  fearfully  hot.  The  horses  sweated 
even  at  walking-pace,  but  anything  was  better 
than  sitting  still  in  our  own  dark  houses. 
When  we  moved  off  under  the  full  moon  we 
were  four  couples,  one  triplet,  and  Me.  Sau- 
marez rode  with  the  Copleigh  girls,  and  I 
loitered  at  the  tail  of  the  procession  wondering 
with  whom  Saumarez  would  ride  home.  Every 
one  was  happy  and  contented ;  but  we  all  felt 
that  things  were  going  to  happen.  We  rode 
slowly;  and  it  was  nearly  midnight  before  we 
reached  the  old  tomb,  facing  the  ruined  tank, 
in  the  decayed  gardens  where  we  were  going 
to  eat  and  drink.    I  was  late  in  coming  up ;  and* 


68  FALSE  DAWN 

before  I  went  into  the  garden,  I  saw  that  the 
horizon  to  the  north  carried  a  faint,  dun- 
colored  feather.  But  no  one  would  have 
thanked  me  for  spoiling  so  well-managed  an 
entertainment  as  this  picnic — and  a  dust-storm, 
more  or  less,  does  no  great  harm. 

We  gathered  by  the  tank.  Some  one  had 
brought  out  a  banjo — which  is  a  most  senti- 
mental instrument — and  three  or  four  of  us 
sang.  You  must  not  laugh  at  this.  Our 
amusements  in  out-of-the-way  Stations  are 
very  few  indeed.  Then  we  talked  in  groups  or 
together,  lying  under  the  trees,  with  the  sun- 
baked roses  dropping  their  petals  on  our  feet, 
until  supper  was  ready.  It  was  a  beautiful 
supper,  as  cold  and  as  iced  as  you  could  wish ; 
and  we  stayed  long  over  it. 

I  had  felt  that  the  air  was  growing  hotter 
and  hotter;  but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it  un- 
til the  moon  went  out  and  a  burning  hot  wind 
began  lashing  the  orange-trees  with  a  sound 
like  the  noise  of  the  sea.  Before  we  knew 
where  we  were,  the  dust-storm  was  on  us  and 
everything  was  roaring,  whirling  darkness. 
The  supper-table  was  blown  bodily  into  the 
tank.  We  were  afraid  of  staying  anywhere 
near  the  old  tomb  for  fear  it  might  be  blown 
down.    So  we  felt  our  way  to  the  orange-trees 


FALSE  DAWN  69 

where  the  horses  were  picketed  and  waited  for 
the  storm  to  blow  over.  Then  the  little  light 
that  was  left  vanished,  and  you  could  not  see 
your  hand  before  your  face.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  dust  and  sand  from  the  bed  of  the 
river,  that  filled  boots  and  pockets  and  drifted 
down  necks  and  coated  eyebrows  and  mous- 
taches. It  was  one  of  the  worst  dust-storms 
of  the  year.  We  were  all  huddled  together 
close  to  the  trembling  horses,  with  the  thunder 
chattering  overhead,  and  the  lightning  spurt- 
ing like  water  from  a  sluice,  all  ways  at  once. 
There  was  no  danger,  of  course,  unless  the 
horses  broke  loose.  I  was  standing  with  my 
head  downwind  and  my  hands  over  my  mouth, 
hearing  the  trees  thrashing  each  other.  I  could 
not  see  who  was  next  me  till  the  flashes  came. 
Then  I  found  that  I  was  packed  near  Saumarez 
and  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  with  my  own 
horse  just  in  front  of  me.  I  recognized  the 
eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  because  she  had  a  pug- 
gree round  her  helmet,  and  the  younger  had 
not.  All  the  electricity  in  the  air  had  gone  into 
my  body  and  I  was  quivering  and  tingling  from 
head  to  foot — exactly  as  a  corn  shoots  and 
tingles  before  rain.  It  was  a  grand  storm. 
The  wind  seemed  to  be  picking  up  the  earth 
and  pitching  it  to  leeward  in  great  heaps;  and 


jo  FALSE  DAWN 

the  heat  beat  up  from  the  ground  like  the  heat 
of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

The  storm  lulled  slightly  after  the  first  half- 
hour,  and  I  heard  a  despairing  little  voice  close 
to  my  ear,  saying  to  itself,  quietly  and  softly, 
as  if  some  lost  soul  were  flying  about  with  the 
wind,  "O  my  God!"  Then  the  younger  Miss 
Copleigh  stumbled  into  my  arms,  saying, 
"Where  is  my  horse?  Get  my  horse.  I  want 
to  go  home.  I  want  to  go  home.  Take  me 
home." 

I  thought  that  the  lightning  and  the  black 
darkness  had  frightened  her;  so  I  said  there 
was  no  danger,  but  she  must  wait  till  the  storm 
blew  over.  She  answered,  "it  is  not  that!  I 
want  to  go  home!  Oh,  take  me  away  from 
here !" 

I  said  that  she  could  not  go  till  the  light 
came ;  but  I  felt  her  brush  past  me  and  go  away. 
It  was  too  dark  to  see  where.  Then  the  whole 
sky  was  split  open  with  one  tremendous  flash, 
as  if  the  end  of  the  world  were  coming,  and  all 
the  women  shrieked. 

Almost  directly  after  this,  I  felt  a  man's 
hand  on  my  shoulder  and  heard  Saumarez  bel- 
lowing in  my  ear.  Through  the  rattling  of  the 
trees  and  howling  of  the  wind,  I  did  not  catch 
his  words  at  once,  but  at  last  I  heard  him  say, 


FALSE  DAWN  71 

"I've  proposed  to  the  wrong  one !  What  shall 
I  do?"  Saumarez  had  no  occasion  to  make 
this  confidence  to  me.  I  was  never  a  friend  of 
his,  nor  am  I  now;  but  I  fancy  neither  of  us 
were  ourselves  just  then.  He  was  shaking  as 
he  stood  with  excitement,  and  I  was  feeling 
queer  all  over  with  the  electricity.  I  could  not 
think  of  anything  to  say  except,  "More  fool 
you  for  proposing  in  a  dust-storm."  But  I  did 
not  see  how  that  would  improve  the  mistake. 

Then  he  shouted,  "Where's  Edith — Edith 
Copleigh?"  Edith  was  the  younger  sister.  I 
answered  out  of  my  astonishment,  "What  do 
you  want  with  her?"  For  the  next  two  min- 
utes, he  and  I  were  shouting  at  each  other  like 
maniacs, — he  vowing  that  it  was  the  younger 
sister  he  had  meant  to  propose  to  all  along,  and 
I  telling  him  till  my  throat  was  hoarse  that  he 
must  have  made  a  mistake !  I  cannot  account 
for  this  except,  again,  by  the  fact  that  we  were 
neither  of  us  ourselves.  Everything  seemed  to 
me  like  a  bad  dream — from  the  stamping  of 
the  horses  in  the  darkness  to  Saumarez  telling 
me  the  story  of  his  loving  Edith  Copleigh  from 
the  first.  He  was  still  clawing  my  shoulder  and 
begging  me  to  tell  him  where  Edith  Copleigh 
was,  when  another  lull  came  and  brought  light 
with  it,  and  we  saw  the  dust-cloud  forming  on 


72  FALSE  DAWN 

the  plain  in  front  of  us.  So  we  knew  the  worst 
was  over.  The  moon  was  low  down,  and  there 
was  just  the  glimmer  of  the  false  dawn  that 
comes  about  an  hour  before  the  real  one.  But 
the  light  was  very  faint,  and  the  dun  cloud 
roared  like  a  bull.  I  wondered  where  Edith 
Copleigh  had  gone;  and  as  I  was  wondering  I 
saw  three  things  together:  First,  Maud  Cop- 
leigh's  face  come  smiling  out  of  the  darkness 
and  move  toward  Saumarez  who  was  standing 
by  me.  I  heard  the  girl  whisper,  "George," 
and  slide  her  arm  through  the  arm  that  was  not 
clawing  my  shoulder,  and  I  saw  that  look  on 
her  face  which  only  comes  once  or  twice  in  a 
lifetime — when  a  woman  is  perfectly  happy 
and  the  air  is  full  of  trumpets  and  gorgeously- 
colored  fire  and  the  Earth  turns  into  cloud 
because  she  loves  and  is  loved.  At  the  same 
time,  I  saw  Saumarez's  face  as  he  heard  Maud 
Copleigh's  voice,  and  fifty  yards  away  from  the 
clump  of  orange-trees,  I  saw  a  brown  holland 
habit  getting  upon  a  horse. 

It  must  have  been  my  state  of  over-excite- 
ment that  made  me  so  ready  to  meddle  with 
what  did  not  concern  me.  Saumarez  was  mov- 
ing off  to  the  habit ;  but  I  pushed  him  back  and 
said,  "Stop  here  and  explain.  I'll  fetch  her 
back!"    And  I  ran  out  to  sfet  at  my  own  horse. 


FALSE  DAWN  73 

I  had  a  perfectly  unnecessary  notion'that  every- 
thing must  be  done  decently  and  in  order,  and 
that  Saumarez's  first  care  was  to  wipe  the  hap- 
py look  out  of  Maud  Copleigh's  face.  All  the 
time  I  was  linking  up  the  curb-chain  I  won- 
dered how  he  would  do  it. 

I  cantered  after  Edith  Copleigh,  thinking  to 
bring  her  back  slowly  on  some  pretence  or  an- 
other. But  she  galloped  away  as  soon  as  she 
saw  me,  and  I  was  forced  to  ride  after  her  in 
earnest.  She  called  back  over  her  shoulder — 
"Go  away!  I'm  going  home.  Oh,  go  away!" 
two  or  three  times ;  but  my  business  was  to 
catch  her  first,  and  argue  later.  The  ride  fitted 
in  with  the  rest  of  the  evil  dream.  The  ground 
was  very  rough,  and  now  and  again  we  rushed 
through  the  whirling,  choking  "dust-devils"  in 
the  skirts  of  the  flying  storm.  There  was  a 
burning  hot  wind  blowing  that  brought  up  a 
stench  of  stale  brick-kilns  with  it ;  and  through 
the  half  light  and  through  the  dust-devils, 
across  that  desolate  plain,  flickered  the  brown 
holland  habit  on  the  grey  horse.  She  headed 
for  the  Station  at  first.  Then  she  wheeled 
round  and  set  off  for  the  river  through  beds  of 
burned-down  jungle-grass,  bad  even  to  ride  pig 
over.  In  cold  blood  I  should  never  have 
dreamed  of  going  over  such  a  country  at  night, 


74  FALSE  DAWN 

but  it  seemed  quite  right  and  natural  with  the 
lightning  crackling  overhead,  and  a  reek  like 
the  smell  of  the  Pit  in  my  nostrils.  I  rode  and 
shouted,  and  she  bent  forward  and  lashed  her 
horse,  and  the  aftermath  of  the  dust-storm 
came  up,  and  caught  us  both,  and  drove  us- 
downward  like  pieces  of  paper. 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  rode;  but  the 
drumming  of  the  horse-hoofs  and  the  roar  of 
the  wind  and  the  race  of  the  faint  blood-red 
moon  through  the  yellow  mist  seemed  to  have 
gone  on  for  years  and  years,  and  I  was  literally 
drenched  with  sweat  from  my  helmet  to  my 
gaiters  when  they  grey  stumbled,  recovered 
himself  and  pulled  up  dead  lame.  My  brute 
was  used  up  altogether.  Edith  Copleigh  was 
bare  headed,  plastered  with  dust,  and  crying 
bitterly.  "Why  can't  you  let  me  alone?"  she 
said.  "I  only  wanted  to  get  away  and  go  home. 
Oh,  please  let  me  go !" 

"You  have  got  to  come  back  with  me,  Miss 
Copleigh.  Saumarez  has  something  to  say  to 
you." 

It  was  a  foolish  way  of  putting  it;  but  I 
hardly  knew  Miss  Copleigh,  and,  though  I  was 
playing  Providence  at  the  cost  of  my  horse,  I 
could  not  tell  her  in  as  many  words  what  Sau- 
marez had  told  me.    I  thought  he  could  do  that 


FALSE  DAWN  75 

better  himself.  All  her  pretence  about  being- 
tired  and  wanting  to  go  home  broke  down,  and 
she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  as 
she  sobbed,  and  the  hot  wind  blew  her  black 
hair  to  leeward.  I  am  not  going  to  repeat 
what  she  said,  because  she  was  utterly  un- 
strung. 

This  was  the  cynical  Miss  Copleigh,  and  I, 
almost  an  utter  stranger  to  her,  was  trying  to 
tell  her  that  Saumarez  loved  her  and  she  was  to 
come  back  to  hear  him  say  so.  I  believe  I  made 
myself  understood,  for  she  gathered  the  grey 
together  and  made  him  hobble  somehow,  and 
we  set  off  for  the  tomb,  while  the  storm  went 
thundering  down  to  Umballa  and  a  few  big 
drops  of  warm  rain  fell.  I  found  out  that  she 
had  been  standing  close  to  Saumarez  when  he 
proposed  to  her  sister,  and  had  wanted  to  go 
home  to  cry  in  peace,  as  an  English  girl  should. 
She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  her  pocket-handker- 
chief as  we  went  along,  and  babbled  to  me  out 
of  sheer  lightness  of  heart  and  hysteria.  That 
was  perfectly  unnatural ;  and  yet,  it  seemed  all 
right  at  the  time  and  in  the  place.  All  the 
world  was  only  the  two  Copleigh  girls,  Sau- 
marez and  I,  ringed  in  with  the  lightning  and 
the  dark ;  and  the  guidance  of  this  misjudged 
world  seemed  to  lie  in  my  hands. 


76  FALSE  DAWN 

When  we  returned  to  the  tomb  in  the  deep 
dead  stillness  that  followed  the  storm,  the  dawn 
was  just  breaking  and  nobody  had  gone  away. 
They  were  waiting  for  our  return.  Saumarez 
most  of  all.  His  face  was  white  and  drawn. 
As  Miss  Copleigh  and  I  limped  up,  he  came  for- 
ward to  meet  us,  and,  when  he  helped  her  down 
from  her  saddle,  he  kissed  her  before  all  the 
picnic.  It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  theatre,  and  the 
likeness  was  heightened  by  all  the  dust-white, 
ghostly-looking  men  and  women  under  the 
orange-trees  clapping  their  hands — as  if  they 
were  watching  a  play — at  Saumarez's  choice. 
I  never  knew  anything  so  un-English  in  my 
life. 

Lastly,  Saumarez  said  we  must  all  go  home 
or  the  Station  would  come  out  to  look  for  us, 
and  would  I  be  good  enough  to  ride  home  with 
Maud  Copleigh?  Nothing  would  give  me 
greater  pleasure,  I  said. 

So  we  formed  up,  six  couples  in  all,  and  went 
back  two  by  two ;  Saumarez  walking  at  the  side 
of  Edith  Copleigh,  who  was  riding  his  horse. 
Maud  Copleigh  did  not  talk  to  me  at  any 
length. 

The  air  was  cleared;  and,  little  by  little,  as 
the  sun  rose,  I  felt  we  were  all  dropping  back 
again  into  ordinary  men  and  women,  and  that 


nv/Bib  bns  33ir! 


His  face  was  white  and  drawn 
Mezzogravure  by  John  Andrew  &  Son  after  original  by  Reginald  Bolles 


FALSE  DAWN  77 

the  "Great  Pop  Picnic"  was  a  thing  altogether 
apart  and  out  of  the  world — never  to  happen 
again.  It  had  gone  with  the  dust-storm  and  the 
tingle  in  the  hot  air. 

I  felt  tired  and  limp,  and  a  good  deal 
ashamed  of  myself  as  I  went  in  for  a  bath  and 
some  sleep. 

There  is  a  woman's  version  of  this  story,  but 
it  will  never  be  written  .  .  .  unless  Maud 
Copleigh  cares  to  try. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

Thus,  for  a  season,  they  fought  it  fair — 

She  and  his  cousin  May — 
Tactful,  talented,  debonnaire, 

Decorous  foes  were  they ; 
But  never  can  battle  of  man  compare 

With  merciless  feminine  fray. 

— Tzvo  and  One. 

MRS.  HAUKSBEE  was  sometimes  nice  to 
her  own  sex.  Here  is  a  story  to  prove 
this;  and  you  can  believe  just  as  much  as  ever 
you  please. 

Pluffles  was  a  subaltern  in  the  "Unmention- 
ables." He  was  callow,  even  for  a  subaltern. 
He  was  callow  all  over — like  a  canary  that  had 
not  finished  fledging  itself.  The  worst  of  it 
was  that  he  had  three  times  as  much  money  as 
was  good  for  him;  Pluffles'  Papa  being  a  rich 
man  and  Pluffles  being  the  only  son.  Pluffles' 
Mamma  adored  him.  She  was  only  a  little  less 
callow  than  Pluffles,  and  she  believed  every- 
thing he  said. 

Pluffles'   weakness  was   not  believing  what 
81 


82       THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

people  said.  He  preferred  what  he  called  trust- 
ing to  his  own  judgment.  He  had  as  much 
judgment  as  he  had  seat  or  hands;  and  this 
preference  tumbled  him  into  trouble  once  or 
twice.  But  the  biggest  trouble  Plumes  ever 
manufactured  came  about  at  Simla — some 
years  ago,  when  he  was  four-and-twenty. 

He  began  by  trusting  to  his  own  judgment 
as  usual,  and  the  result  was  that,  after  a  time, 
he  was  bound  hand  and  foot  to  Mrs.  Reiver's 
'rickshaw  wheels. 

There  was  nothing  good  about  Mrs.  Reiver, 
unless  it  was  her  dress.  She  was  bad  from  her 
hair — which  started  life  on  a  Brittany  girl's 
head — to  her  boot-heels,  which  were  two  and 
three-eighth  inches  high.  She  was  not  honest- 
ly mischievous  like  Mrs.  Hauksbee;  she  was 
wicked  in  a  business-like  way. 

There  was  never  any  scandal — she  had  not 
generous  impulses  enough  for  that.  She  was 
the  exception  which  proved  the  rule  that  Anglo- 
Indian  ladies  are  in  every  way  as  nice  as  their 
sisters  at  Home.  She  spent  her  life  in  proving 
that  rule. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  she  hated  each  other  fer- 
vently. They  hated  far  too  much  to  clash ;  but 
the  things  they  said  of  each  other  were  startling 
— not  to  say  original.      Mrs.   Hauksbee  was 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES       83 

honest — honest  as  her  own  front-teeth — and, 
but  for  her  love  of  mischief,  would  have  been 
a  woman's  woman.  There  was  no  honesty 
about  Mrs.  Reiver;  nothing  but  selfishness. 
And  at  the  beginning  of  the  season,  poor  little 
Pluffles  fell  a  prey  to  her.  She  laid  herself  out 
to  that  end,  and  how  was  Pluffles  to  resist  ?  He 
trusted  to  his  judgment,  and  he  got  judged. 

I  have  seen  Captain  Hayes  argue  with  a 
tough  horse — I  have  seen  a  tonga-driver  coerce 
a  stubborn  pony — I  have  seen  a  riotous  setter 
broken  to  gun  by  a  hard  keeper — but  the  break- 
ing-in  of  Pluffles  of  the  "Unmentionables"  was 
beyond  all  these.  He  learned  to  fetch  and  carry 
like  a  dog,  and  to  wait  like  one,  too,  for  a  word 
from  Mrs.  Reiver.  He  learned  to  keep  appoint- 
ments which  Mrs.  Reiver  had  no  intention  of 
keeping.  He  learned  to  take  thankfully  dances 
which  Mrs.  Reiver  had  no  intention  of  giving 
him.  He  learned  to  shiver  for  an  hour  and  a 
quarter  on  the  windward  side  of  Elysium  while 
Mrs.  Reiver  was  making  up  her  mind  to  come 
for  a  ride.  He  learned  to  hunt  for  a  'rickshaw, 
in  a  light  dress-suit  under  pelting  rain,  and  to 
walk  by  the  side  of  that  'rickshaw  when  he  had 
found  it.  He  learned  what  it  was  to  be  spoken 
to  like  a  coolie  and  ordered  about  like  a  cook. 
He  learned  all  this  and  many  other  things  be- 
sides.   And  he  paid  for  his  schooling. 


84       THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

Perhaps,  in  some  hazy  way,  he  fancied  that 
it  was  fine  and  impressive,  that  it  gave  him  a 
status  among  men,  and  was  altogether  the  thing 
to  do.  It  was  nobody's  business  to  warn 
Pluffles  that  he  was  unwise.  The  pace  that  sea- 
son was  too  good  to  inquire ;  and  meddling  with 
another  man's  folly  is  always  thankless  work. 
Pluffles'  Colonel  should  have  ordered  him  back 
to  his  regiment  when  he  heard  how  things  were 
going.  But  Pluffles  had  got  himself  engaged  to 
a  girl  in  England  the  last  time  he  went  Home ; 
and,  if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another 
that  the  Colonel  detested,  it  was  a  married 
subaltern.  He  chuckled  when  he  heard  of  the 
education  of  Pluffles,  and  said  it  was  good 
training  for  the  boy.  But  it  was  not  good 
training  in  the  least.  It  led  him  into  spending 
money  beyond  his  means,  which  were  good; 
above  that,  the  education  spoiled  an  average 
boy  and  made  it  a  tenth-rate  man  of  an  objec- 
tionable kind.  He  wandered  into  a  bad  set,  and 
his  little  bill  at  the  jewelers  was  a  thing  to 
wonder  at. 

Then  Mrs.  Hauksbee  rose  to  the  occasion. 
She  played  her  game  alone,  knowing  what  peo- 
ple would  say  of  her ;  and  she  played  it  for  the 
sake  of  a  girl  she  had  never  seen.  Pluffles' 
fiancee  was  to  come  out,  under  chaperonage  of 
an  aunt,  in  October,  to  be  married  to  Pluffles. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES       85 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
discovered  that  it  was  time  to  interfere.  A  man 
who  rides  much  knows  exactly  what  a  horse  is 
going  to  do  next  before  he  does  it.  In  the 
same  way,  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  ex- 
perience knows  accurately  how  a  boy  will  be- 
have under  certain  circumstances — notably 
when  he  is  infatuated  with  one  of  Mrs.  Reiver's 
stamp.  She  said  that,  sooner  or  later,  little 
Pluffles  would  break  off  that  engagement  for 
nothing  at  all — simply  to  gratify  Mrs.  Reiver, 
who,  in  return,  would  keep  him  at  her  feet  and 
in  her  service  just  so  long  as  she  found  it  worth 
her  while.  She  said  she  knew  the  signs  of 
these  things.     If  she  did  not  no  one  else  could. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  capture  Pluffles  under 
the  guns  of  the  enemy;  just  as  Mrs.  Cusack- 
Bremmil  carried  away  Bremmil  under  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  eyes. 

This  particular  engagement  lasted  seven 
weeks — we  called  it  the  Seven  Weeks'  War — 
and  was  fought  out  inch  by  inch  on  both  sides. 
A  detailed  account  would  fill  a  book,  and  would 
be  incomplete  then.  Any  one  who  knows  about 
these  things  can  fit  in  the  details  for  himself. 
It  was  a  superb  fight — there  will  never  be  an- 
other like  it  as  long  as  Jakko  Hill  stands — and 
Pluffles  was  the  prize  of  victory.     People  said 


86       THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

shameful  things  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  They 
did  not  know  what  she  was  playing  for.  Mrs. 
Reiver  fought  partly  because  Pluffles  was  use- 
ful to  her,  but  mainly  because  she  hated  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  and  the  matter  was  a  trial  of 
strength  between  them.  No  one  knows  what 
Pluffles  thought.  He  had  not  many  ideas  at 
the  best  of  times,  and  the  few  he  possessed 
made  him  conceited.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said, 
"The  boy  must  be  caught ;  and  the  only  way  of 
catching  him  is  by  treating  him  well." 

So  she  treated  him  as  a  man  of  the  world 
and  of  experience  so  long  as  the  issue  was 
doubtful.  Little  by  little,  Pluffles  fell  away 
from  his  old  allegiance  and  came  over  to  the 
enemy,  by  whom  he  was  made  much  of.  He 
was  never  sent  on  out-post  duty  after  'rick- 
shaws any  more,  nor  was  he  given  dances 
which  never  came  off,  nor  were  the  drains  on 
his  purse  continued.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  held  him 
on  the  snaffle ;  and,  after  his  treatment  at  Mrs. 
Reiver's  hands,  he  appreciated  the  change. 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  broken  him  of  talking  about 
himself,  and  made  him  talk  about  her  own 
merits.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  acted  otherwise,  and 
won  his  confidence,  till  he  mentioned  his  en- 
gagement to  the  girl  at  Home,  speaking  of  it 
in  a  high  and  mighty  way  as  a  piece  of  boyish 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES       87 

folly.  This  was  when  he  was  taking  tea  with 
her  one  afternoon,  and  discoursing  in  what  he 
considered  a  gay  and  fascinating  style.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  had  seen  an  earlier  generation  of  his 
stamp  bud  and  blossom,  and  decay  into  fat  Cap- 
tains and  tubby  Majors. 

At  a  moderate  estimate  there  were  about 
three-and-twenty  sides  to  that  lady's  character. 
Some  men  say  more.  She  began  to  talk  to 
Pluffles  after  the  manner  of  a  mother,  and  as  if 
there  had  been  three  hundred  years,  instead  of 
fifteen,  between  them.  She  spoke  with  a  sort 
of  throaty  quaver  in  her  voice  which  had  a 
soothing  effect,  though  what  she  said  was  any- 
thing but  soothing.  She  pointed  out  the  ex- 
ceeding folly,  not  to  say  meanness,  of  Pluffles' 
conduct,  and  the  smallness  of  his  views.  Then 
he  stammered  something  about  "trusting  to  his 
own  judgment  as  a  man  of  the  world";  and 
this  paved  the  way  for  what  she  wanted  to  say 
next.  It  would  have  withered  up  Pluffles  had 
it  come  from  any  other  woman  ;  but,  in  the  soft 
cooing  style  in  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  put  it,  it 
only  made  him  feel  limp  and  repentant — as  if 
he  had  been  in  some  superior  kind  of  church. 
Little  by  little,  very  softly  and  pleasantly,  she 
began  taking  the  conceit  out  of  Pluffles,  as  they 
take  the  ribs  out  of  an  umbrella  before  re- 


88       THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES 

covering  it.  She  told  him  what  she  thought  of 
him  and  his  judgment  and  his  knowledge  of  the 
world ;  and  how  his  performances  had  made 
him  ridiculous  to  other  people ;  and  how  it  was 
his  intention  to  make  love  to  herself  if  she  gave 
him  the  chance.  Then  she  said  that  marriage 
would  be  the  making  of  him ;  and  drew  a  pretty 
little  picture — all  rose  and  opal — of  the  Mrs. 
Pluffles  of  the  future  going  through  life  rely- 
ing on  the  judgment  and  knowledge  of  the 
world  of  a  husband  who  had  nothing  to  re- 
proach himself  with.  How  she  reconciled  these 
two  statements  she  alone  knew.  But  they  did 
not  strike  Pluffles  as  conflicting. 

Hers  was  a  perfect  little  homily — much  bet- 
ter than  any  clergyman  could  have  given — and 
it  ended  with  touching  allusions  to  Pluffles' 
Mamma  and  Papa,  and  the  wisdom  of  taking 
his  bride  Home. 

Then  she  sent  Pluffles  out  for  a  walk,  to 
think  over  what  she  had  said.  Pluffles  left, 
blowing  his  nose  very  hard  and  holding  himself 
very  straight.     Mrs.  Hauksbee  laughed. 

What  Pluffles  had  intended  to  do  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  engagement  only  Mrs.  Reiver  knew, 
and  she  kept  her  own  counsel  to  her  death.  She 
would  have  liked  it  spoiled  as  a  compliment,  I 
fancy. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES       89 

Pluffles  enjoyed  many  talks  with  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  during  the  next  few  days.  They 
were  all  to  the  same  end,  and  they  helped 
Pluffles  in  the  path  of  Virtue. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  wanted  to  keep  him  under 
her  wing  to  the  last.  Therefore  she  dis- 
countenanced his  going  down  to  Bombay  to  get 
married.  "Goodness  only  knows  what  might 
happen  by  the  way!"  she  said.  "Pluffles  is 
cursed  with  the  curse  of  Reuben,  and  India  is 
no  fit  place  for  him !" 

In  the  end,  the  fiancee  arrived  with  her  aunt ; 
and  Pluffles,  having  reduced  his  affairs  to  some 
sort  of  order — here  again  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
helped  him — was  married. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
both  the  "I  wills"  had  been  said,  and  went  her 
way. 

Pluffles  took  her  advice  about  going  Home. 
He  left  the  Service  and  is  now  raising  speckled 
cattle  inside  green  painted  fences  somewhere  in 
England.  I  believe  he  does  this  very  judicious- 
ly. He  would  have  come  to  extreme  grief  in 
India. 

For  these  reasons,  if  any  one  says  anything 
more  than  usually  nasty  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
tell  him  the  story  of  the  Rescue  of  Pluffles. 


CUPID'S  ARROWS 


CUPID'S  ARROWS 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried; 

Log  in  the  plume-grass,  hidden  and  lone ; 

Dam  where  the  earth-rat's  mounds  are  strown ; 

Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals ; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels, 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a  steed  untried — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide — go  wide ! 
Hark,  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride: 
"Pull  to  the  off,  boys!    Wide!    Go  wide!" 

— The  Peora  Hunt. 

/^\  NCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  at  Simla  a 
^-^  very  pretty  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
but  honest  District  and  Sessions  Judge.  She 
was  a  good  girl  but  could  not  help  knowing  her 
power  and  using  it.  Her  Mamma  was  very 
anxious  about  her  daughter's  future,  as  all 
good  Mammas  should  be. 

When  a  man  is  a  Commisioner  and  a  bache- 
lor and  has  the  right  of  wearing  open-work 
jam-tart  jewels  in  gold  and  enamel  on  his 
clothes,  and  of  going  through  a  door  before 
every  one  except  a  Member  of  Council,  a 
Lieutenant-Governor,  or  a  Viceroy,  he  is  worth 
93 


94 


CUPID'S  ARROWS 


marrying.  At  least,  that  is  what  ladies  say. 
There  was  a  Commissioner  in  Simla,  in  those 
days,  who  was,  and  wore  and  did  all  I  have 
said.  He  was  a  plain  man — an  ugly  man — 
the  ugliest  man  in  Asia,  with  two  exceptions. 
His  was  a  face  to  dream  about  and  try  to  carve 
on  a  pipe-head  afterward.  His  name  was  Sag- 
gott — Barr-Saggott — Anthony  Barr-Saggott 
and  six  letters  to  follow.  Departmentally,  he 
was  one  of  the  best  men  the  Government  of 
India  owned.  Socially,  he  was  like  unto  a 
blandishing  gorilla. 

When  he  turned  his  attentions  to  Miss 
Beighton,  I  believe  that  Mrs.  Beighton  wept 
with  delight  at  the  reward  Providence  had  sent 
her  in  her  old  age. 

Mr.  Beighton  held  his  tongue.  He  was  an 
easy-going  man. 

A  Commissioner  is  very  rich.  His  pay  is  be- 
yond the  dreams  of  avarice — is  so  enormous 
that  he  can  afford  to  save  and  scrape  in  a  way 
that  would  almost  discredit  a  Member  of  Coun- 
cil. Most  Commissioners  are  mean ;  but  Barr- 
Saggott  was  an  exception.  He  entertained 
royally:  he  horsed  himself  well;  he  gave 
dances ;  he  was  a  power  in  the  land ;  and  he  be- 
haved as  such. 

Consider  that  everything  I  am  writing  of 


CUPID'S  ARROWS  95 

took  place  in  an  almost  pre-historic  era  in  the 
history  of  British  India.  Some  folk  may  re- 
member the  years  before  lawn-tennis  was  born 
when  we  all  played  croquet.  There  were  sea- 
sons before  that,  if  you  will  believe  me,  when 
even  croquet  had  not  been  invented,  and 
archery — which  was  revived  in  England  in 
1844 — was  as  great  a  pest  as  lawn-tennis  is 
now.  People  talked  learnedly  about  "holding" 
and  "loosing,"  "steles,"  "reflexed  bows,"  "56- 
pound  bows,"  "backed"  or  "self-yew  bows,"  as 
we  talk  about  "rallies,"  "volleys,"  "smashes," 
"returns,"  and  "16-ounce  rackets." 

Miss  Beighton  shot  divinely  over  ladies'  dis- 
tance— sixty  yards,  that  is — and  was  acknowl- 
edged the  best  lady  archer  in  Simla.  Men 
called  her  "Diana  of  Tara-Devi." 

Barr-Saggott  paid  her  great  attention;  and, 
as  I  have  said,  the  heart  of  her  mother  was 
uplifted  in  consequence.  Kitty  Beighton  took 
matters  more  calmly.  It  was  pleasant  to  be 
singled  out  by  a  Commissioner  with  letters 
after  his  name,  and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  other 
girls  with  bad  feelings.  But  there  was  no 
denying  the  fact  that  Barr-Saggott  was  phe- 
nomenally ugly;  and  all  his  attempts  to  adorn 
himself  only  made  him  more  grotesque.  He 
was    not    christened    "The    Langur" — which 


96  CUPID'S  ARROWS 

means  grey  ape — for  nothing.  It  was  pleasant, 
Kitty  thought,  to  have  him  at  her  feet,  but  it 
was  better  to  escape  from  him  and  ride  with  the 
graceless  Cubbon — the  man  in  a  Dragoon  Regi- 
ment at  Umballa — the  boy  with  a  handsome 
face,  and  no  prospects.  Kitty  liked  Cubbon 
more  than  a  little.  He  never  pretended  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  anything  less  than  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  her;  for  he  was  an 
honest  boy.  So  Kitty  fled,  now  and  again, 
from  the  stately  wooings  of  Barr-Saggott  to 
the  company  of  young  Cubbon,  and  was  scolded 
by  her  Mamma  in  consequence.  "But, 
Mother,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Saggott  is  such — 
such  a — is  so  fearfully  ugly,  you  know!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Beighton,  piously,  "we 
cannot  be  other  than  an  all-ruling  Providence 
has  made  us.  Besides,  you  will  take  precedence 
of  your  own  Mother,  you  know!  Think  of 
that  and  be  reasonable." 

Then  Kitty  put  up  her  little  chin  and  said 
irreverent  things  about  precedence,  and  Com- 
missioners, and  matrimony.  Mr.  Beighton 
rubbed  the  top  of  his  head ;  for  he  was  an  easy- 
going man. 

Late  in  the  season,  when  he  judged  that  the 
time  was  ripe,  Barr-Saggott  developed  a  plan 
which   did  great  credit  to  his  administrative 


CUPID'S  ARROWS  97 

powers.  He  arranged  an  archery-tournament 
for  ladies,  with  a  most  sumptuous  diamond- 
studded  bracelet  as  prize.  He  drew  up  his 
terms  skilfully,  and  every  one  saw  that  the 
bracelet  was  a  gift  to  Miss  Beighton;  the  ac- 
ceptance carrying  with  it  the  hand  and  the  heart 
of  Commissioner  Barr-Saggott.  The  terms 
were  a  St.  Leonard's  Round — thirty-six  shots 
at  sixty  yards — under  the  rules  of  the  Simla 
Toxophilite  Society. 

All  Simla  was  invited.  There  were  beauti- 
fully arranged  tea-tables  under  the  deodars  at 
Annandale,  where  the  Grand  Stand  is  now; 
and,  alone  in  its  glory,  winking  in  the  sun,  sat 
the  diamond  bracelet  in  a  blue  velvet  case. 
Miss  Beighton  was  anxious — almost  too  anx- 
ious— to  compete.  On  the  appointed  afternoon 
all  Simla  rode  down  to  Annandale  to  witness 
the  Judgment  of  Paris  turned  upside  down. 
Kitty  rode  with  young  Cubbon,  and  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  the  boy  was  troubled  in  his  mind. 
He  must  be  held  innocent  of  everything  that 
followed.  Kitty  was  pale  and  nervous,  and 
looked  long  at  the  bracelet.  Barr-Saggott  was 
gorgeously  dressed,  even  more  nervous  than 
Kitty,  and  more  hideous  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Beighton  smiled  condescendingly,  as 
befitted  the  mother  of  a  potential  Commission- 


98  CUPID'S  ARROWS 

eress,  and  the  shooting  began;  all  the  world 
standing  a  semicircle  as  the  ladies  came  out  one 
after  the  other. 

Nothing  is  so  tedious  as  an  archery  competi- 
tion. They  shot,  and  they  shot,  and  they  kept 
on  shooting,  till  the  sun  left  the  .valley,  and  little 
breezes  got  up  in  the  deodars,  and  people  waited 
for  Miss  Beighton  to  shoot  and  win.  Cubbon 
was  at  one  horn  of  the  semicircle  round  the 
shooters,  and  Barr-Saggott  at  the  other.  Miss 
Beighton  was  last  on  the  list.  The  scoring  had 
been  weak,  and  the  bracelet,  with  Commissioner 
Barr-Saggott,  was  hers  to  a  certainty. 

The  Commissioner  strung  her  bow  with  his 
own  sacred  hands.  She  stepped  forward, 
looked  at  the  bracelet,  and  her  first  arrow  went 
true  to  a  hair — full  into  the  heart  of  the  "gold" 
— counting  nine  points. 

Young  Cubbon  on  the  left  turned  white,  and 
his  Devil  prompted  Barr-Saggott  to  smile. 
Now  horses  used  to  shy  when  Barr-Saggott 
smiled.  Kitty  saw  that  smile.  She  looked  to 
her  left-front,  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  nod 
to  Cubbon,  and  went  on  shooting. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  scene  that  fol- 
lowed. It  was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  most 
improper.  Miss  Kitty  fitted  her  arrows  with 
immense  deliberation,  so  that  every  one  might 


CUPID'S  ARROWS  99 

see  what  she  was  doing.  She  was  a 
perfect  shot;  and  her  forty-six  pound  bow 
suited  her  to  a  nicety.  She  pinned  the 
wooden  legs  of  the  target  with  great  care  four 
successive  times.  She  pinned  the  wooden  top 
of  the  target  once,  and  all  the  ladies  looked  at 
each  other.  Then  she  began  some  fancy  shoot- 
ing at  the  white,  which  if  you  hit  it,  counts 
exactly  one  point.  She  put  five  arrows  into  the 
white.  It  was  wonderful  archery ;  but,  seeing 
that  her  business  was  to  make  "golds"  and  win 
the  bracelet,  Barr-Saggott  turned  a  delicate 
green  like  young  water-grass.  Next,  she  shot 
over  the  target  twice,  then  wide  to  the  left 
twice — always  with  the  same  deliberation — 
while  a  chilly  hush  fell  over  the  company,  and 
Mrs.  Beighton  took  out  her  handkerchief. 
Then  Kitty  shot  at  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
target,  and  split  several  arrows.  Then  she 
made  a  red — or  seven  points — just  to  show 
what  she  could  do  if  she  liked,  and  she  finished 
up  her  amazing  performance  with  some  more 
fancy  shooting  at  the  target  supports.  Here  is 
her  score  as  it  was  pricked  off : 

Gold.    Red.  Blue.  Black.  White.  T°tal    Jotal 
Hits.   Score. 

Miss    Beighton  1         1        o        0        5        7        21. 

Barr-Saggott    looked    as    if    the    last    few 


ioo  CUPID'S  ARROWS 

arrowheads  had  been  driven  into  his  legs  in- 
stead of  the  target's,  and  the  deep  stillness  was 
broken  by  a  little  snubby,  mottled,  half-grown 
girl  saying  in  a  shrill  voice  of  triumph,  "Then 
I've  won !" 

Mrs.  Beighton  did  her  best  to  bear  up;  but 
she  wept  in  the  presence  of  the  people.  No 
training  could  help  her  through  such  a  dis- 
appointment. Kitty  unstrung  her  bow  with  a 
vicious  jerk,  and  went  back  to  her  place,  while 
Barr-Saggott  was  trying  to  pretend  that  he  en- 
joyed snapping  the  bracelet  on  the  snubby  girl's 
raw,  red  wrist.  It  was  an  awkward  scene — 
most  awkward.  Every  one  tried  to  depart  in 
a  body  and  leave  Kitty  to  the  mercy  of  her 
Mamma. 

But  Cubbon  took  her  away  instead,  and — 
the  rest  isn't  worth  printing. 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

Then  a  pile  of  heads  he  laid — 
Thirty  thousands  heaped  on  high — 

All  to  please  the  Kafir  maid, 
Where  the  Oxus  ripples  by. 

Grimly  spake  Atulla  Khan — 
"Love  hath  made  this  thing  a  Man." 

— Oatta's  Story. 

TF  you  go  straight  away  from  Levees  and 
•*•  Government  House  Lists,  past  Trades'  Balls 
— far  beyond  everything  and  everybody  you 
ever  knew  in  your  respectable  life — you  cross, 
in  time,  the  Borderline  where  the  last  drop  of 
White  blood  ends  and  the  full  tide  of  Black  sets 
in.  It  would  be  easier  to  talk  to  a  new-made 
Duchess  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  than  to  the 
Borderline  folk  without  violating  some  of  their 
conventions  or  hurting  their  feelings.  The 
Black  and  the  White  mix  very  quaintly  in  their 
ways.  Sometimes  the  White  shows  in  spurts 
of  fierce,  childish  pride — which  is  Pride  of 
Race  run  crooked — and  sometimes  the  Black  in 
still  fiercer  abasement  and  humility,  half- 
heathenish  customs  and  strange,  unaccountable 

103 


104  HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

impulses  to  crime.  One  of  these  days,  this  peo- 
ple— understand  they  are  far  lower  than  the 
class  whence  Derozio,  the  man  who  imitated 
Byron,  sprung — will  turn  out  a  writer  or  a 
poet;  and  then  we  shall  know  how  they  live 
and  what  they  feel.  In  the  meantime,  any 
stories  about  them  cannot  be  absolutely  correct 
in  fact  or  inference. 

Miss  Vezzis  came  from  across  the  Borderline 
to  look  after  some  children  who  belonged  to  a 
lady  until  a  regularly  ordained  nurse  could 
come  out.  The  lady  said  Miss  Vezzis  was  a 
bad,  dirty  nurse  and  inattentive.  It  never 
struck  her  that  Miss  Vezzis  had  her  own  life 
to  lead  and  her  own  affairs  to  worry  over,  and 
that  these  affairs  were  the  most  important 
things  in  the  world  to  Miss  Vezzis.  Very  few 
mistresses  admit  this  sort  of  reasoning.  Miss 
Vezzis  was  as  black  as  a  boot,  and,  to  our 
standard  of  taste,  hideously  ugly.  She  wore 
cotton-print  gowns  and  bulged  shoes ;  and 
when  she  lost  her  temper  with  the  children,  she 
abused  them  in  the  language  of  the  Borderline 
— which  is  part  English,  part  Portuguese,  and 
part  Native.  She  was  not  attractive;  but  she 
had  her  pride,  and  she  preferred  being  called 
"Miss  Vezzis." 

Every  Sunday,  she  dressed  herself  wonder- 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  105 

fully  and  went  to  see  her  Mamma,  who  lived, 
for  the  most  part,  on  an  old  cane  chair  in  a 
greasy  tussiir-silk  dressing-gown  and  a  big 
rabbit-warren  of  a  house  full  of  Vezzises, 
Pereiras,  Ribieras,  Lisboas  and  Gonsalveses, 
and  a  floating  population  of  loafers ;  besides 
fragments  of  the  day's  market,  garlic,  stale  in- 
cense, clothes  thrown  on  the  floor,  petticoats 
hung  on  strings  for  screens,  old  bottles,  pewter 
crucifixes,  dried  immortelles,  pariah  puppies, 
plaster  images  of  the  Virgin,  and  hats  without 
crowns.  Miss  Vezzis  drew  twenty  rupees  a 
month  for  acting  as  nurse,  and  she  squabbled 
weekly  with  her  Mamma  as  to  the  percentage  to 
be  given  toward  housekeeping.  When  the  quar- 
rel was  over,  Michele  D'Cruze  used  to  shamble 
across  the  low  mud  wall  of  the  compound 
and  make  love  to  Miss  Vezzis  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Borderline,  which  is  hedged  about  with 
much  ceremony.  Michele  was  a  poor,  sickly 
weed  and  very  black ;  but  he  had  his  pride.  He 
would  not  be  seen  smoking  a  hiiqa  for  any- 
thing; and  he  looked  down  on  natives  as  only 
a  man  with  seven-eighths  native  blood  in  his 
veins  can.  The  Vezzis  Family  had  their  pride 
too.  They  traced  their  descent  from  a  mythical 
platelayer  who  had  worked  on  the  Sone  Bridge 
when  railways  were  new  in  India,  and  they 


106  HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

valued  their  English  origin.  Michele  was  a 
Telegraph  Signaller  on  Rs.  35  a  month.  The 
fact  that  he  was  in  Government  employ  made 
Mrs.  Vezzis  lenient  to  the  shortcomings  of  his 
ancestors. 

There  was  a  compromising  legend — Dom 
Anna  the  tailor  brought  it  from  Poonani — that 
a  black  Jew  of  Cochin  had  once  married  into 
the  D'Cruze  family;  while  it  was  open  secret 
that  an  uncle  of  Mrs.  D'Cruze  was,  at  that  very 
time,  doing  menial  work,  connected  with  cook- 
ing, for  a  Club  in  Southern  India!  He  sent 
Mrs.  D'Cruze  seven  rupees  eight  annas  a 
month;  but  she  felt  the  disgrace  to  the  family 
very  keenly  all  the  same. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays, 
Mrs.  Vezzis  brought  herself  to  overlook  these 
blemishes  and  gave  her  consent  to  the  marriage 
of  her  daughter  with  Michele,  on  condition  that 
Michele  should  have  at  least  fifty  rupees  a 
month  to  start  married  life  upon.  This  won- 
derful prudence  must  have  been  a  lingering 
touch  of  the  mythical  platelayer's  Yorkshire 
blood ;  for  across  the  Borderline  people  take  a 
pride  in  marrying  when  they  please — not  when 
they  can. 

Having  regard  to  his  departmental  prospects, 
Miss  Vezzis  might  as  well  have  asked  Michele 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  107 

to  go  away  and  come  back  with  the  Moon  in 
his  pocket.  But  Michele  was  deeply  in  love 
with  Miss  Vezzis,  and  that  helped  him  to  en- 
dure. He  accompanied  Miss  Vezzis  to  Mass 
one  Sunday,  and  after  Mass,  walking  home 
through  the  hot  stale  dust  with  her  hand  in  his. 
he  swore  by  several  Saints  whose  names  would 
not  interest  you,  never  to  forget  Miss  Vezzis; 
and  she  swore  by  her  Honor  and  the  Saints — 
the  oath  runs  rather  curiously;  "In  nomine 
Sanctissimae" — (whatever  the  name  of  the  she- 
Saint  is)  and  so  forth,  ending  with  a  kiss  on 
the  forehead,  a  kiss  on  the  left  cheek,  and  a  kiss 
on  the  mouth — never  to  forget  Michele. 

Next  week  Michele  was  transferred,  and 
Miss  Vezzis  dropped  tears  upon  the  window- 
sash  of  the  "Intermediate"  compartment  as  he 
left  the  Station. 

If  you  look  at  the  telegraph-map  of  India 
you  will  see  a  long  line  skirting  the  coast  from 
Backergrunge  to  Madras.  Michele  was  or- 
dered to  Tibasu,  a  little  Sub-office  one-third 
down  this  line,  to  send  messages  on  from  Ber- 
hampur  to  Chicacola,  and  to  think  of  Miss 
Vezzis  and  his  chances  of  getting  fifty  rupees 
a  month  out  of  office-hours.  He  had  the  noise 
of  the  Bay  of  Bengal  and  a  Bengali  Babu  for 
company;  nothing  more.     He  sent  foolish  let- 


to8  HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

ters,  with  crosses  tucked  inside  the  flaps  of  the 
envelopes,  to  Miss  Vezzis. 

When  he  had  been  at  Tibasu  for  nearly  three 
weeks  his  chance  came. 

Never  forget  that  unless  the  outward  and 
visible  signs  of  Our  Authority  are  always  be- 
fore a  native  he  is  as  incapable  as  a  child  of 
understanding  what  authority  means,  or  where 
is  the  danger  of  disobeying  it.  Tibasu  was  a 
forgotten  little  place  with  a  few  Orissa  Mo- 
hammedans in  it.  These,  hearing  nothing  of 
the  Collectors ahib  for  some  time  and  heartily 
despising  the  Hindu  Sub-Judge,  arranged  to 
start  a  little  Mohurrum  riot  of  their  own.  But 
the  Hindus  turned  out  and  broke  their  heads; 
when,  finding  lawlessness  pleasant,  Hindus  and 
Mohammedans  together  raised  an  aimless  sort 
of  Donnybrook  just  to  see  how  far  they  could 
go.  They  looted  each  others'  shops,  and  paid 
off  private  grudges  in  the  regular  way.  It  was 
a  nasty  little  riot,  but  not  worth  putting  in  the 
newspapers. 

Michele  was  working  in  his  office  when  he 
heard  the  sound  that  a  man  never  forgets  all 
his  life — the  "ah-yah"  of  an  angry  crowd. 
[When  that  sound  drops  about  three  tones,  and 
changes  to  a  thick,  droning  ut,  the  man  who 
hears  it  had  better  go  away  if  he  is  alone.]  The 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  109 

Native  Police  Inspector  ran  in  and  told  Michele 
that  the  town  was  in  an  uproar  and  coming  to 
wreck  the  Telegraph  Office.  The  Babu  put  on 
his  cap  and  quietly  dropped  out  of  the  window ; 
while  the  Police  Inspector,  afraid,  but  obeying 
the  old  race-instinct  which  recognizes  a  drop 
of  White  blood  as  far  as  it  can  be  diluted,  said, 
"What  orders  does  the  Sahib  give?" 

The  "Sahib"  decided  Michele.  Though  hor- 
ribly frightened,  he  felt  that,  for  the  hour,  he, 
the  man  with  the  Cochin  Jew  and  the  menial 
uncle  in  his  pedigree,  was  the  only  representa- 
tive of  English  authority  in  the  place.  Then  he 
thought  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  the  fifty  rupees, 
and  took  the  situation  on  himself.  There  were 
seven  native  policemen  in  Tibasu,  and  four 
crazy  smooth-bore  muskets  among  them.  All 
the  men  were  grey  with  fear,  but  not  beyond 
leading.  Michele  dropped  the  key  of  the  tele- 
graph instrument,  and  went  out,  at  the  head 
of  his  army,  to  meet  the  mob.  As  the  shouting 
crew  came  round  a  corner  of  the  road,  he 
dropped  and  fired ;  the  men  behind  him  loosing 
instinctively  at  the  same  time. 

The  whole  crowd — curs  to  the  backbone — 
yelled  and  ran ;  leaving  one  man  dead,  and  an- 
other dying  in  the  road.  Michele  was  sweat- 
ing with  fear,  but  he  kept  his  weakness  under, 


no  HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

and  went  down  into  the  town,  past  the  house 
where  the  Sub- Judge  had  barricaded  himself. 
The  streets  were  empty.  Tibasu  was  more 
frightened  than  Michele,  for  the  mob  had  been 
taken  at  the  right  time. 

Michele  returned  to  the  Telegraph-Office, 
and  sent  a  message  to  Chicacola  asking  for 
help.  Before  an  answer  came,  he  received  a 
deputation  of  the  elders  of  Tibasu,  telling  him 
that  the  Sub-Judge  said  his  actions  generally 
were  "unconstitutional,"  and  trying  to  bully 
him.  But  the  heart  of  Michele  D'Cruze  was 
big  and  white  in  his  breast,  because  of  his  love 
for  Miss  Vezzis,  the  nurse-girl,  and  because  he 
had  tasted  for  the  first  time  Responsibility  and 
Success.  Those  two  make  an  intoxicating 
drink,  and  have  ruined  more  men  than  ever  has 
Whisky.  Michele  answered  that  the  Sub- Judge 
might  say  what  he  pleased,  but,  until  the  As- 
sistant Collector  came,  the  Telegraph  Signaller 
was  the  Government  of  India  in  Tibasu,  and 
the  elders  of  the  town  would  be  held  account- 
able for  further  rioting.  Then  they  bowed 
their  heads  and  said,  "Show  mercy !"  or  words 
to  that  effect,  and  went  back  in  great  fear ;  each 
accusing  the  other  of  having  begun  the  riot- 
ing. 

Early  in  the  dawn,  after  a  night's  patrol  with 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  III 

his  seven  policemen,  Michele  went  down  the 
road,  musket  in  hand,  to  meet  the  Assistant 
Collector  who  had  ridden  in  to  quell  Tibasu. 
But,  in  the  presence  of  this  young  Englishman, 
Michele  felt  himself  slipping  back  more  and 
more  into  the  native ;  and  the  tale  of  the  Tibasu 
Riots  ended,  with  the  strain  on  the  teller,  in  an 
hysterical  outburst  of  tears,  bred  by  sorrow 
that  he  had  killed  a  man,  shame  that  he  could 
not  feel  as  uplifted  as  he  had  felt  through  the 
night,  and  childish  anger  that  his  tongue  could 
not  do  justice  to  his  great  deeds.  It  was  the 
White  drop  in  Michele's  veins  dying  out, 
though  he  did  not  know  it. 

But  the  Englishman  understood;  and,  after 
he  had  schooled  those  men  of  Tibasu,  and  had 
conferred  with  the  Sub-Judge  till  that  excellent 
official  turned  green,  he  found  time  to  draft  an 
official  letter  describing  the  conduct  of  Michele. 
Which  letter  filtered  through  the  Proper  Chan- 
nels, and  ended  in  the  transfer  of  Michele  up- 
country  once  more,  on  the  Imperial  salary  of 
sixty-six  rupees  a  month. 

So  he  and  Miss  Vezzis  were  married  with 
great  state  and  ancientry;  and  now  there  are 
several  little  D'Cruzes  sprawling  about  the 
verandas  of  the  Central  Telegraph  Office. 

But,  if  the  whole  revenue  of  the  Department 


H2  HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE 

he  serves  were  to  be  his  reward,  Michele  could 
never,  never  repeat  what  he  did  at  Tibasu  for 
the  sake  of  Miss  Vezzis  the  nurse-girl. 

Which  proves  that,  when  a  man  does  good 
work  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  pay,  in  seven 
cases  out  of  nine  there  is  a  woman  at  the  back 
of  the  virtue. 

The  two  exceptions  must  have  suffered  from 
sunstroke. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

What  is  in  the  Brahman's  books  that  is  in  the  Brah- 
man's heart.  Neither  you  nor  I  knew  there  was  so 
much  evil  in  the  world. 

— Hindu  Proverb. 

THIS  began  in  a  practical  joke; but  it  has 
gone    far    enough    now,    and    is    getting 
serious. 

Platte,    the    Subaltern,    being   poor,   had   a 
Waterbury  watch  and  a  plain  leather  guard. 

The  Colonel  had  a  Waterbury  watch  also, 
and,  for  the  guard,  the  lip-strap  of  a  curb- 
chain.  Lipstraps  make  the  best  watch-guards. 
They  are  strong  and  short.  Between  a  lip- 
strap  and  an  ordinary  leather-guard  there  is 
no  great  difference;  between  one  Waterbury 
watch  and  another  none  at  all.  Every  one  in 
the  Station  knew  the  Colonel's  lip-strap.  He 
was  not  a  horsey  man,  but  he  liked  people  to 
believe  he  had  been  one  once ;  and  he  wove  fan- 
tastic stories  of  the  hunting-bridle  to  which  this 
particular  lip-strap  had  belonged.  Otherwise 
he  was  painfully  religious. 
115 


n6      WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

Platte  and  the  Colonel  were  dressing  at  the 
Club — both  late  for  their  engagements,  and 
both  in  a  hurry.  That  was  Kismet.  The  two 
watches  were  on  a  shelf  below  the  looking-glass 
— guards  hanging  down.  That  was  careless- 
ness. Platte  changed  first,  snatched  a  watch, 
looked  in  the  glass,  settled  his  tie,  and  ran. 
Forty  seconds  later,  the  Colonel  did  exactly  the 
same  thing;  each  man  taking  the  other's  watch. 

You  may  have  noticed  that  many  religious 
people  are  deeply  suspicious.  They  seem — for 
purely  religious  purposes,  of  course — to  know 
more  about  iniquity  than  the  Unregenerate. 
Perhaps  they  were  specially  bad  before  they 
became  converted !  At  any  rate,  in  the  imputa- 
tion of  things  evil,  and  in  putting  the  worst 
construction  on  things  innocent,  a  certain  type 
of  good  people  may  be  trusted  to  surpass  all 
others.  The  Colonel  and  his  Wife  were  of  that 
type.  But  the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the  worst. 
She  manufactured  the  Station  scandal,  and — 
talked  to  her  ayah.  Nothing  more  need  be  said. 
The  Colonel's  Wife  broke  up  the  Laplace's 
home.  The  Colonel's  Wife  stopped  the  Ferris- 
Haughtrey  engagement.  The  Colonel's  Wife 
induced  young  Buxton  to  keep  his  wife  down 
in  the  Plains  through  the  first  year  of  the  mar- 
riage.   Wherefore  little  Mrs.  Buxton  died,  and 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT       117 

the  baby  with  her.  These  things  will  be  re- 
membered against  the  Colonel's  Wife  so  long 
as  there  is  a  regiment  in  the  country. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  Colonel  and  Platte. 
They  went  their  several  ways  from  the  dress- 
ing-room. The  Colonel  dined  with  twc  Chap- 
lains, while  Platte  went  to  a  bachelor-party,  and 
whist  to  follow. 

Mark  how  things  happen!  If  Platte's  groom 
had  put  the  new  staddle-pad  on  the  mare,  the 
butts  of  the  territs  would  not  have  worked 
through  the  worn  leather  and  the  old  pad  into 
the  mare's  withers,  when  she  was  coming  home 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  She  would  not 
have  reared,  bolted,  fallen  into  a  ditch,  upset 
the  cart,  and  sent  Platte  flying  over  an  aloe- 
hedge  on  to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  well-kept  lawn ;  and 
this  tale  would  never  have  been  written.  But 
the  mare  did  all  these  things,  and  while  Platte 
was  rolling  over  and  over  on  the  turf,  like  a 
shot  rabbit,  the  watch  and  guard  flew  from  his 
waistcoat — as  an  Infantry  Major's  sword  hops 
out  of  the  scabbard  when  they  are  firing  a 
feu-de-joie — and  rolled  and  rolled  in  the  moon- 
light, till  it  stopped  under  a  window. 

Platte  stuffed  his  handkerchief  under  the 
pad,  put  the  cart  straight,  and  went  home. 

Mark  again  how  Kismet  works !    This  would 


n8       WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

not  arrive  once  in  a  hundred  years.  Towards 
the  end  of  his  dinner  with  the  two  Chaplains, 
the  Colonel  let  out  his  waistcoat  and  leaned 
over  the  table  to  look  at  some  Mission  Reports. 
The  bar  of  the  watch-guard  worked  through 
the  buttonhole,  and  the  watch — Platte's  watch 
— slid  quietly  on  to  the  carpet.  Where  the 
bearer  found  it  next  morning  and  kept  it. 

Then  the  Colonel  went  home  to  the  wife  of 
his  bosom;  but  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was 
drunk  and  lost  his  way.  So  the  Colonel  re- 
turned at  an  unseemly  hour  and  his  excuses 
were  not  accepted.  If  the  Colonel's  Wife  had 
been  an  ordinary  vessel  of  wrath  appointed  for 
destruction,  she  would  have  known  that  when 
a  man  stays  away  on  purpose,  his  excuse  is 
always  sound  and  original.  The  very  baldness 
of  the  Colonel's  explanation  proved  its  truth. 

See  once  more  the  workings  of  Kismet.  The 
Colonel's  watch  which  came  with  Platte  hur- 
riedly on  to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lawn,  chose  to  stop 
just  under  Mrs.  Larkyn's  window,  where  she 
saw  it  early  in  the  morning,  recognized  it  and 
picked  it  up.  She  had  heard  the  crash  of 
Platte's  cart  at  two  o'clock  that  morning,  and 
his  voice  calling  the  mare  names.  She  knew 
Platte  and  liked  him.  That  day  she  showed 
him  the  watch  and  heard  his  story.     He  put 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT       119 

his  head  on  one  side,  winked  and  said,  "How 
disgusting !  Shocking  old  man !  With  his  re- 
ligious training,  too !  I  should  send  the  watch 
to  the  Colonel's  Wife  and  ask  for  explana- 
tions." 

Mrs.  Larkyn  thought  for  a  minute  of  the 
Laplaces — whom  she  had  known  when  Laplace 
and  his  wife  believed  in  each  other — and  an- 
swered, "I  will  send  it.  I  think  it  will  do  her 
good.  But,  remember,  we  must  never  tell  her 
the  truth." 

Platte  guessed  that  his  own  watch  was  in  the 
Colonel's  possession,  and  thought  that  the  re- 
turn of  the  lip-strapped  Waterbury  with  a 
soothing  note  from  Mrs.  Larkyn  would  merely 
create  a  small  trouble  for  a  few  minutes.  Mrs. 
Larkyn  knew  better.  She  knew  that  any 
poison  dropped  would  find  good  holding- 
ground  in  the  heart  of  the  Colonel's  Wife. 

The  packet,  and  a  note  containing  a  few  re- 
marks on  the  Colonel's  calling  hours,  were  sent 
over  to  the  Colonel's  Wife,  who  wept  in  her 
own  room  and  took  counsel  with  herself. 

If  there  was  one  woman  under  Heaven 
whom  the  Colonel's  Wife  hated  with  holy  fer- 
vor, it  was  Mrs.  Larkyn.  Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a 
frivolous  lady,  and  called  the  Colonel's  Wife 
"old  cat."    The  Colonel's  Wife  said  that  some- 


120      WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

body  in  Revelations  was  remarkably  like  Mrs. 
Larkyn.  She  mentioned  other  Scripture  peo- 
ple as  well.  From  the  Old  Testament.  But 
the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the  only  person  who 
cared  or  dared  to  say  anything  against  Mrs. 
Larkyn.  Every  one  else  accepted  her  as  an 
amusing,  honest  little  body.  Wherefore,  to 
believe  that  her  husband  had  been  shedding 
watches  under  that  "Thing's"  window  at  un- 
godly hours  coupled  with  the  fact  of  his  late 
arrival  on  the  previous  night,  was     . 

At  this  point  she  rose  up  and  sought  her 
husband.  He  denied  everything  except  the 
ownership  of  the  watch.  She  besought  him, 
for  his  Soul's  sake  to  speak  the  truth.  He  de- 
nied afresh,  with  two  bad  words.  Then  a  stony 
silence  held  the  Colonel's  Wife  while  a  man 
could  draw  his  breath  five  times. 

The  speech  that  followed  is  no  affair  of 
mine  or  yours.  It  was  made  up  of  wifely  and 
womanly  jealousy;  knowledge  of  old  age  and 
sunk  cheeks;  deep  mistrust  born  of  the  text 
that  says  even  little  babies'  hearts  are  as  bad  as 
they  make  them ;  rancorous  hatred  of  Mrs.  Lar- 
kyn, and  the  tenets  of  the  creed  of  the  Colonel's 
Wife's  upbringing. 

Over  and  above  all,  was  the  damning  lip- 
strapped  Waterbury,  ticking  away  in  the  palm 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT       121 

of  her  shaking,  withered  hand.  At  that  hour,  I 
think,  the  Colonel's  Wife  realized  a  little  of  the 
restless  suspicion  she  had  injected  into  old  Lap- 
lace's mind,  a  little  of  poor  Miss  Haughtrey's 
misery,  and  some  of  the  canker  that  ate  into 
Buxton's  heart  as  he  watched  his  wife  dying 
before  his  eyes.  The  Colonel  stammered  and 
tried  to  explain.  Then  he  remembered  that  his 
watch  had  disappeared;  and  the  mystery  grew 
greater.  The  Colonel's  Wife  talked  and  prayed 
by  turns  till  she  was  tired,  and  went  away  to  de- 
vise means  for  chastening  the  stubborn  heart  of 
her  husband.  Which,  translated,  means,  in  our 
slang,  "tail-twisting." 

Being  deeply  impressed  with  the  doctrine  of 
Original  Sin,  she  could  not  believe  in  the  face 
of  appearances.  She  knew  too  much,  and 
jumped  to  the  wildest  conclusions. 

But  it  was  good  for  her.  It  spoiled  her  life, 
as  she  had  spoiled  the  life  of  the  Laplaces.  She 
had  lost  her  faith  in  the  Colonel,  and — here  the 
creed-suspicion  came  in — he  might,  she  argued, 
have  erred  many  times,  before  a  merciful 
Providence,  at  the  hands  of  so  unworthy  an 
instrument  as  Mrs.  Larkyn,  had  established  his 
guilt.  He  was  a  bad,  wicked,  grey-haired 
profligate.  This  may  sound  too  sudden  a  re- 
vulsion for  a  long-wedded  wife;  but  it  is  a 


122       WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

venerable  fact  that,  if  a  man  or  woman  makes 
a  practice  of,  and  takes  a  delight  in,  believing 
and  spreading  evil  of  people  indifferent  to  him 
or  her,  he  or  she  will  end  in  believing  evil  of 
folk  very  near  and  dear.  You  may  think,  also, 
that  the  mere  incident  of  the  watch  was  too 
small  and  trivial  to  raise  this  misunderstand- 
ing. It  is  another  aged  fact  that,  in  life  as  well 
as  racing,  all  the  worst  accidents  happen  at  lit- 
tle ditches  and  cut-down  fences.  In  the  same 
way,  you  sometimes  see  a  woman  who  would 
have  made  a  Joan  of  Arc  in  another  century 
and  climate,  threshing  herself  to  pieces  over  all 
the  mean  worry  of  housekeeping.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

Her  belief  only  made  the  Colonel's  Wife 
more  wretched,  because  it  insisted  so  strongly 
on  the  villainy  of  men.  Remembering  what 
she  had  done,  it  was  pleasant  to  watch  her  un- 
happiness,  and  the  penny-farthing  attempts  she 
made  to  hide  it  from  the  Station.  But  the  Sta- 
tion knew  and  laughed  heartlessly;  for  they 
had  heard  the  story  of  the  watch,  with  much 
dramatic  gesture,  from  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lips. 

Once  or  twice  Platte  said  to  Mrs.  Larkyn, 
seeing  that  the  Colonel  had  not  cleared  himself, 
"This  thing  has  gone  far  enough.  I  move  we 
tell  the  Colonel's  Wife  how  it  happened.    Mrs. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT       123 

Larkyn  shut  her  lips  and  shook  her  head,  and 
vowed  that  the  Colonel's  Wife  must  bear  her 
punishment  as  best  she  could.  Now  Mrs.  Lar- 
kyn was  a  frivolous  woman,  in  whom  none 
would  have  suspected  deep  hate.  So  Platte 
took  no  action,  and  came  to  believe  gradually, 
from  the  Colonel's  silence,  that  the  Colonel 
must  have  run  off  the  line  somewhere  that 
night,  and,  therefore,  preferred  to  stand  sen- 
tence on  the  lesser  count  of  rambling  into  other 
people's  compounds  out  of  calling-hours. 
Platte  forgot  about  the  watch  business  after 
a  while,  and  moved  down-country  with  his  regi- 
ment. Mrs.  Larkyn  went  home  when  her  hus- 
band's tour  of  Indian  service  expired.  She 
never  forgot. 

But  Platte  was  quite  right  when  he  said  that 
the  joke  had  gone  too  far.  The  mistrust  and 
the  tragedy  of  it — which  we  outsiders  cannot 
see  and  do  not  believe  in — are  killing  the 
Colonel's  Wife,  and  are  making  the  Colonel 
wretched.  If  either  of  them  read  this  story, 
they  can  depend  upon  its  being  a  fairly  true 
account  of  the  case,  and  can  kiss  and  make 
friends. 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  pleasure  of  watch- 
ing an  Engineer  being  shelled  by  his  own  Bat- 
tery.    Now  this  shows  that  poets  should  not 


124      WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 

write  about  what  they  do  not  understand.  Any 
one  could  have  told  him  that  Sappers  and  Gun- 
ners are  perfectly  different  branches  of  the 
Service.  But,  if  you  correct  the  sentence,  and 
substitute  Gunner  for  Sapper,  the  moral  comes 
just  the  same. 


THE  OTHER  MAN 


THE  OTHER  MAN 

When  the  Earth  was  sick  and  the  Skies  were  grey 
And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 

The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 
To  visit  his  love  again. 

— Old  Ballad. 

FAR  back  in  the  "seventies,"  before  they  had 
built  any  Public-Offices  at  Simla,  and  the 
broad  road  round  Jakko  lived  in  a  pigeon-hole 
in  the  P.  W.  D.  hovels,  her  parents  made  Miss 
Gaurey  marry  Colonel  Schreiderling.  He 
could  not  have  been  much  more  than  thirty-five 
years  her  senior;  and,  as  he  lived  on  two  hun- 
dred rupees  a  month  and  had  money  of  his 
own,  he  was  well  off.  He  belonged  to  good 
people,  and  suffered  in  the  cold  weather  from 
lung-complaints.  In  the  hot  weather  he 
dangled  on  the  brink  of  heat-apoplexy,  but  it 
never  quite  killed  him. 

Understand.  I  do  not  blame  Schreiderling. 
He  was  a  good  husband  according  to  his  lights, 
and  his  temper  only  failed  him  when  he  was 
127 


128  THE  OTHER  MAN 

being  nursed.    Which  was  some  seventeen  days 
in  each  month.    He  was  almost  generous  to  his 
wife  about  money-matters,  and  that,  for  him, 
was  a  concession.    Still  Mrs.  Schreiderling  was 
not  happy.     They  married  her  when  she  was 
this  side  of  twenty  and  had  given  all  her  poor 
little  heart  to  another  man.     I  have  forgotten 
his  name,  but  we  will  call  him  the  Other  Man. 
He  had  no  money  and  no  prospects.     He  was 
not  even  good-looking;  and  I  think  he  was  in 
the  Commissariat  or  Transport.     But,  in  spite 
of  all  these  things,  she  loved  him  very  badly; 
and  there  was  some  sort  of  an  engagement  be- 
tween the  two  when    Schreiderling  appeared 
and  told  Mrs.  Gaurey  that  he  wished  to  marry 
her  daughter.    Then  the  other  engagement  was 
broken  off — washed  away  by  Mrs.   Gaurey's 
tears,    for  that   lady  governed   her   house  by 
weeping  over  disobedience  to  her  authority  and 
the  lack  of  reverence  she  received  in  her  old 
age.      The  daughter   did   not  take   after   her 
mother.      She  never  cried.      Not  even  at  the 
wedding. 

The  Other  Man  bore  his  loss  quietly,  and  was 
transferred  to  as  bad  a  station  as  he  could  find. 
Perhaps  the  climate  consoled  him.  He  suffered 
from  intermittent  fever,  and  that  may  have  dis- 
tracted him  from  his  other  trouble.     He  was 


THE  OTHER  MAN  129 

weak  about  the  heart  also.  Both  ways.  One 
of  the  valves  was  affected,  and  the  fever  made 
it  worse.     This  showed  itself  later  on. 

Then  many  months  passed,  and  Mrs. 
Schreiderling  took  to  being  ill.  She  did  not 
pine  away  like  people  in  story-books,  but  she 
seemed  to  pick  up  every  form  of  illness  that 
went  about  a  Station,  from  simple  fever  up- 
wards. She  was  never  more  than  ordinarily 
pretty  at  the  best  of  times ;  and  the  illness  made 
her  ugly.  Schreiderling  said  so.  He  prided 
himself  on  speaking  his  mind. 

When  she  ceased  being  pretty,  he  left  her  to 
her  own  devices,  and  went  back  to  the  lairs  of 
his  bachelordom.  She  used  to  trot  up  and 
down  Simla  Mall  in  a  forlorn  sort  of  way,  with 
a  grey  Terai  hat  well  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  a  shocking  bad  saddle  under  her.  Schreid- 
erling's  generosity  stopped  at  the  horse.  He 
said  that  any  saddle  would  do  for  a  woman  as 
nervous  as  Mrs.  Schriederling.  She  never  was 
asked  to  dance,  because  she  did  not  dance  well ; 
and  she  was  so  dull  and  uninteresting,  that  her 
box  very  seldom  had  any  cards  in  it.  Schreid- 
erling said  that  if  he  had  known  she  was  going 
to  be  such  a  scarecrow  after  her  marriage,  he 
would  never  have  married  her.  He  always 
prided  himself  on  speaking  his  mind,  did 
Schreiderling. 


i3o  THE  OTHER  MAN 

He  left  her  at  Simla  one  August,  and  went 
down  to  his  regiment.  Then  she  revived  a 
little,  but  she  never  recovered  her  looks.  I 
found  out  at  the  Club  that  the  Other  Man  was 
coming  up  sick — very  sick — on  an  off  chance 
of  recovery.  The  fever  and  the  heart-valves 
had  nearly  killed  him.  She  knew  that  too,  and 
she  knew — what  I  had  no  interest  in  knowing 
— when  he  was  coming  up.  I  suppose  he  wrote 
to  tell  her.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  since 
a  month  before  the  wedding.  And  here  comes 
the  unpleasant  part  of  the  story. 

A  late  call  kept  me  down  at  the  Dovedell 
Hotel  till  dusk  one  evening.  Mrs.  Schreider- 
ling  had  been  flitting  up  and  down  the  Mall  all 
the  afternoon  in  the  rain.  Coming  up  along  the 
Cart-road,  a  tonga  passed  me,  and  my  pony, 
tired  with  standing  so  long,  set  off  at  a  canter. 
Just  by  the  road  down  to  the  Tonga  Office  Mrs. 
Schreiderling,  dripping  from  head  to  foot,  was 
waiting  for  the  tonga.  I  turned  uphill,  as  the 
tonga  was  no  affair  of  mine ;  and  just  then  she 
began  to  shriek.  I  went  back  at  once  and  saw, 
under  the  Tonga  Office  lamps,  Mrs.  Schreider- 
ling kneeling  in  the  wet  road  by  the  back  seat 
of  the  newly-arrived  tonga,  screaming  hideous- 
ly. Then  she  fell  face  down  in  the  dirt  as  I 
came  uo. 


THE  OTHER  MAN  131 

Sitting  in  the  back  seat,  very  square  and  firm, 
with  one  hand  on  the  awning-stanchion  and  the 
wet  pouring  off  his  hat  and  moustache,  was 
the  Other  Man — dead.  The  sixty-mile  uphill 
jolt  had  been  too  much  for  his  valve,  I  suppose. 
The  tonga-driver  said,  "This  Sahib  died  two 
stages  out  of  Solon.  Therefore,  I  tied  him 
with  a  rope,  lest  he  should  fall  out  by  the  way, 
and  so  came  to  Simla.  Will  the  Sahib  give  me 
bukshish?  It,"  pointing  to  the  Other  Man, 
"should  have  given  one  rupee." 

The  Other  Man  sat  with  a  grin  on  his  face, 
as  if  he  enjoyed  the  joke  of  his  arrival;  and 
Mrs.  Schreiderling,  in  the  mud,  began  to 
groan.  There  was  no  one  except  us  four  in 
the  office  and  it  was  raining  heavily.  The  first 
thing  was  to  take  Mrs.  Schreiderling  home,  and 
the  second  was  to  prevent  her  name  from  be- 
ing mixed  up  with  the  affair.  The  tonga- 
driver  received  five  rupees  to  find  a  bazar  'rick- 
shaw for  Mrs.  Schreiderling.  He  was  to  tell 
the  Tonga  Babu  afterward  of  the  Other  Man, 
and  the  Babu  was  to  make  such  arrangements 
as  seemed  best. 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  carried  into  the  shed 
out  of  the  rain,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  we  two  waited  for  the  'rickshaw.  The 
Other  Man  was  left  exactly  as  he  had  arrived. 


1 32  THE  OTHER  MAN 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  would  do  everything  but 
cry,  which  might  have  helped  her.  She  tried 
to  scream  as  soon  as  her  senses  came  back,  and 
then  she  began  praying  for  the  Other  Man's 
soul.  Had  she  not  been  as  honest  as  the  day, 
she  would  have  prayed  for  her  own  soul  too. 
I  waited  to  hear  her  do  this,  but  she  did  not. 
Then  I  tried  to  get  some  of  the  mud  off  her 
habit.  Lastly,  the  'rickshaw  came,  and  I  got 
her  away — partly  by  force.  It  was  a  terrible 
business  from  beginning  to  end;  but  most  of 
all  when  the  'rickshaw  had  to  squeeze  between 
the  wall  and  the  tonga,  and  she  saw  by  the 
lamplight  that  thin,  yellow  hand  grasping  the 
awning-stanchion. 

She  was  taken  home  just  as  every  one  was 
going  to  a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge — "Peter- 
hoff"  it  was  then — and  the  doctor  found  out 
that  she  had  fallen  from  her  horse,  that  I  had 
picked  her  up  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and  really 
deserved  great  credit  for  the  prompt  manner  in 
which  I  had  secured  medical  aid.  She  did 
not  die — men  of  Schreiderling's  stamp  marry 
women  who  don't  die  easily.  They  live  and 
grow  ugly. 

She  never  told  of  her  one  meeting,  since  her 
marriage,  with  the  Other  Man;  and,  when  the 
chill  and  cough  following  the  exposure  of  that 


THE  OTHER  MAN  133 

evening,  allowed  her  abroad,  she  never  by  word 
or  sign  alluded  to  having  met  me  by  the  Tonga 
Office.    Perhaps  she  never  knew. 

She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  the  Mall,  on 
that  shocking  bad  saddle,  looking  as  if  she  ex- 
pected to  meet  some  one  round  the  corner  every 
minute.  Two  years  afterward  she  went  Home, 
and  died — at  Bournemouth,  I  think. 

Schreiderling,  when  he  grew  maudlin  at 
Mess,  used  to  talk  about  "my  poor  dear  wife." 
He  always  set  great  store  on  speaking  his 
mind,  did  Schreiderling. 


CONSEQUENCES. 


CONSEQUENCES. 

Rosicrucian  subtleties 

In  the  Orient  had  rise; 

Ye  may  find  teachers  still 

Under  Jacatala's   Hill. 

Seek  ye.   Bombast   Paracelsus, 

Read  what  Flood  the  Seeker  tells  us 

Of  the  Dominant  that  runs 

Through  the  Cycles  of  the  Suns — 

Read  my  story  last,  and  see 

Luna  at  her  apogee. 

THERE  are  yearly  appointments,  and  two- 
yearly  appointments,  and  five-yearly  ap- 
pointments at  Simla,  and  there  are,  or  used  to 
be,  permanent  appointments,  whereon  you 
stayed  up  for  the  term  of  your  natural  life  and 
secured  red  cheeks  and  a  nice  income.  Of 
course,  you  could  descend  in  the  cold  weather; 
for  Simla  is  rather  dull  then. 

Tarrion  came  from  goodness  knows  where — 
all  away  and  away  in  some  forsaken  part  of 
Central  India,  where  they  call  Pachmari  a 
Sanitarium,  and  drive  behind  trotting-bullocks, 
I  believe.  He  belonged  to  a  regiment ;  but  what 
137 


138  CONSEQUENCES 

he  really  wanted  to  do  was  to  escape  from  his 
regiment  and  live  in  Simla  forever  and  ever. 
He  had  no  preference  for  anything  in  particu- 
lar, beyond  a  good  horse  and  a  nice  partner. 
He  thought  he  could  do  everything  well ;  which 
is  a  beautiful  belief  when  you  hold  it  with  all 
your  heart.  He  was  clever  in  many  ways,  and 
good  to  look  at,  and  always  made  people  round 
him  comfortable — even  in  Central  India. 

So  he  went  up  to  Simla,  and,  because  he  was 
clever  and  amusing,  he  gravitated  naturally  to 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  who  could  forgive  everything 
but  stupidity.  Once  he  did  her  great  service 
by  changing  the  date  on  an  invitation-card  for 
a  big  dance  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  wished  to 
attend,  but  couldn't  because  she  had  quarreled 
with  the  A.-D.-C,  who  took  care,  being  a  mean 
man,  to  invite  her  to  a  small  dance  on  the  6th 
instead  of  the  big  Ball  of  the  26th.  It  was  a 
very  clever  piece  of  forgery;  and  when  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  showed  the  A.-D.-C,  her  invitation- 
card,  and  chaffed  him  mildly  for  not  better 
managing  his  vendettas,  he  really  thought  that 
he  had  made  a  mistake;  and — which  was  wise 
— realized  that  it  was  no  use  to  fight  with  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  She  was  grateful  to  Tarrion  and 
asked  what  she  could  do  for  him.  He  said 
simply,  "I'm  a  Freelance  up  here  on  leave,  on 


CONSEQUENCES  139 

the  lookout  for  what  I  can  loot.  I  haven't  a 
square  inch  of  interest  in  all  Simla.  My  name 
isn't  known  to  any  man  with  an  appointment  in 
his  gift,  and  I  want  an  appointment — a  good, 
sound  one.  I  believe  you  can  do  anything  you 
turn  yourself  to.  Will  you  help  me?"  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  thought  for  a  minute,  and  passed 
the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  through  he:-  lips,  as 
was  her  custom  when  thinking.  Then  her  eyes 
sparkled  and  she  said,  "I  will;"  and  she  shook 
hands  on  it.  Tarrion,  having  perfect  confi- 
dence in  this  great  woman,  took  no  further 
thought  of  the  business  at  all.  Except  to  won- 
der what  sort  of  an  appointment  he  would  win. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  calculating  the  prices 
of  all  the  Heads  of  Departments  and  Mem- 
bers of  Council  she  knew,  and  the  more  she 
thought  the  more  she  laughed,  because  her 
heart  was  in  the  game  and  it  amused  her.  Then 
she  took  a  Civil  List  and  ran  over  a  few  of  the 
appointments.  There  are  some  beautiful  ap- 
pointments in  the  Civil  List.  Eventually,  she 
decided  that,  though  Tarrion  was  too  good  for 
the  Political  Department,  she  had  better  begin 
by  trying  to  place  him  there.  Her  own  plans 
to  this  end  do  not  matter  in  the  least,  for  Luck 
or  Fate  played  into  her  hands  and  she  had 
nothing  to  do  but  watch  the  course  of  events 
and  take  the  credit  of  them. 


i4o  CONSEQUENCES 

All  Viceroys,  when  they  first  come  out,  pass 
through  the  diplomatic  Secrecy  craze.  It 
wears  off  in  time;  but  they  all  catch  it  in  the 
beginning,  because  they  are  new  to  the  coun- 
try. The  particular  Viceroy  who  was  suffer- 
ing from  the  complaint  just  then — this  was  a 
long  time  ago,  before  Lord  Dufferin  ever  came 
from  Canada,  or  Lord  Ripon  from  the  bosom 
of  the  English  Church — had  it  very  badly ;  and 
the  result  was  that  men  who  were  new  to  keep- 
ing official  secrets  went  about  looking  unhappy ; 
and  the  Viceroy  plumed  himself  on  the  way  in 
which  he  had  instilled  notions  of  reticence  into 
his  Staff. 

Now,  the  Supreme  Government  have  a  care- 
less custom  of  committing  what  they  do  to 
printed  papers.  These  papers  deal  with  all 
sorts  of  things — from  the  payment  of  Rs.200 
to  a  "secret  service"  native,  up  to  rebukes  ad- 
ministered to  Vakils  and  Motamids  of  Native 
States,  and  rather  brusque  letters  to  Native 
Princes,  telling  them  to  put  their  houses  in 
order,  to  refrain  from  kidnapping  women,  or 
filling  offenders  with  pounded  red  pepper,  and 
eccentricities  of  that  kind.  Of  course,  these 
things  could  never  be  made  public,  because 
Native  Princes  never  err  officially,  and  their 
States  are  officially  as  well  administered  as  Our 


CONSEQUENCES  141 

territories.  Also,  the  private  allowances  to 
various  queer  people  are  not  exactly  matters  to 
put  into  newspapers,  though  they  give  quaint 
reading  sometimes.  When  the  Supreme  Gov- 
ernment is  at  Simla,  these  papers  are  prepared 
there,  and  go  round  to  the  people  who  ought  to 
see  them  in  office-boxes  or  by  post.  The  prin- 
ciple of  secrecy  was  to  that  Viceroy  quite  as 
important  as  the  practice,  and  he  held  that  a 
benevolent  despotism  like  Ours  should  never 
allow  even  little  things,  such  as  appointments 
of  subordinate  clerks,  to  leak  out  till  the  proper 
time.  He  was  always  remarkable  for  his  prin- 
ciples. 

There  was  a  very  important  batch  of  papers 
in  preparation  at  that  time.  It  had  to  travel 
from  one  end  of  Simla  to  the  other  by  hand. 
It  was  not  put  into  an  official  envelope,  but  a 
large,  square,  pale  pink  one;  the  matter  being 
in  MS.  on  soft  crinkley  paper.  It  was  ad- 
dressed to  "The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  Now, 
between  "The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  and  "Mrs. 
Hauksbee"  and  a  flourish,  is  no  very  great  dif- 
ference, if  the  address  be  written  in  a  very  bad 
hand,  as  this  was.  The  orderly  who  took  the 
envelope  was  not  more  of  an  idiot  than  most 
orderlies.  He  merely  forgot  where  this  most 
unofficial  cover  was  to  be  delivered,  and  so 


142  CONSEQUENCES 

asked  the  first  Englishman  he  met,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  a  man  riding  down  to  Annandale 
in  a  great  hurry.  The  Englishman  hardly 
looked  at  it,  said,  "Mrs.  Hauksbee,"  and  went 
on.  So  did  the  orderly,  because  that  letter  was 
the  last  in  stock  and  he  wanted  to  get  his  work 
over.  There  was  no  book  to  sign;  he  thrust 
the  letter  into  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  bearer's  hands 
and  went  off  to  smoke  with  a  friend.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  expecting  some  cut-out  pattern 
things  in  flimsy  paper  from  a  friend.  As  soon 
as  she  got  the  big  square  packet,  therefore,  she 
said,  "Oh,  the  dear  creature!"  and  tore  it  open 
with  a  paper-knife,  and  all  the  MS.  enclosures 
tumbled  out  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  reading.  I  have  said 
the  batch  was  rather  important.  That  is  quite 
enough  for  you  to  know.  It  referred  to  some 
correspondence,  two  measures,  a  peremptory 
order  to  a  native  chief  and  two  dozen  other 
things.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gasped  as  she  read,  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  naked  machinery  of  the 
Great  Indian  Government,  stripped  of  its  cast- 
ings, and  lacquer,  and  paint,  and  guard-rails, 
impresses  even  the  most  stupid  man.  And  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  a  clever  woman.  She  was  a 
little  afraid  at  first,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  taken 
hold  of  a  lightning-flash  by  the  tail,  and  did 


CONSEQUENCES  143 

not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  it.  There  were 
remarks  and  initials  at  the  side  of  the  papers ; 
and  some  of  the  remarks  were  rather  more 
severe  than  the  papers.  The  initials  belonged 
to  men  who  are  all  dead  or  gone  now ;  but  they 
were  great  in  their  day.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  read 
on  and  thought  calmly  as  she  read.  Then  the 
value  of  her  trove  struck  her,  and  she  cast 
about  for  the  best  method  of  using  it.  Then 
Tarrion  dropped  in,  and  they  read  through  all 
the  papers  together,  and  Tarrion,  not  knowing 
how  she  had  come  by  them,  vowed  that  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  the  greatest  woman  on  earth. 
Which  I  believe  was  true  or  nearly  so. 

"The  honest  course  is  always  the  best,"  said 
Tarrion  after  an  hour  and  a  half  of  study  and 
conversation.  "All  things  considered,  the  In- 
telligence Branch  is  about  my  form.  Either 
that  or  the  Foreign  Office.  I  go  to  lay  siege  to 
the  High  Gods  in  their  Temples." 

He  did  not  seek  a  little  man,  or  a  little  big 
man,  or  a  weak  Head  of  a  strong  Department, 
but  he  called  on  the  biggest  and  strongest  man 
that  the  Government  owned,  and  explained  that 
he  wanted  an  appointment  at  Simla  on  a  good 
salary.  The  compound  insolence  of  this 
amused  the  Strong  Man,  and,  as  he  had  nothing 
to  do  for  the  moment,  he  listened  to  the  pro- 


144  CONSEQUENCES 

posals  of  the  audacious  Tarrion.  "You  have, 
I  presume,  some  special  qualifications,  besides 
the  gift  of  self-assertion,  for  the  claim:-;  ou  put 
forward?"  said  the  Strong  Man.  ''That, 
Sir,"  said  Tarrion,  "is  for  you  to  judge."  Then 
he  began,  for  he  had  a  good  memory,  quoting 
a  few  of  the  more  important  notes  in  the  papers 
— slowly  and  one  by  one  as  a  man  drops- 
chlorodyne  into  a  glass.  When  he  had  rea.  hed 
the  peremptory  order — and  it  was  a  very 
peremptory  order — the  Strong  Man  was 
troubled.  Tarrion  wound  up — "And  I  fancy 
that  special  knowledge  of  this  kind  is  at  least 
as  valuable  for,  let  us  say,  a  berth  in  the  For- 
eign Office,  as  the  fact  of  being  the  nephew  of 
a  distinguished  officer's  wife."  That  hit  the 
Strong  Man  hard,  for  the  last  appointment  to 
the  Foreign  Office  had  been  by  black  favor,  and 
he  knew  it. 

"I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  the 
Strong  Man. 

"Many  thanks,"  said  Tarrion.  Then  he  left, 
and  the  Strong  Man  departed  to  see  how  the 
appointment  was  to  be  blocked. 


Followed  a  pause  of  eleven  days ;  with  thun- 
ders  and   lightnings   and   much   telegraphing. 


CONSEQUENCES  145 

The  appointment  was  not  a  very  important  one, 
carrying  only  between  Rs.500  and  Rs.700  a 
month ;  but,  as  the  Viceroy  said,  it  was  the  prin- 
ciple of  diplomatic  secrecy  that  had  to  be  main- 
tained, and  it  was  more  than  likely  that  a  boy 
so  well  supplied  with  special  information  would 
be  worth  translating.  So  they  translated  Tar- 
rion;  They  must  have  suspected  him,  though 
he  protested  that  his  information  was  due  to 
singular  talents  of  his  own.  Now,  much  of  this 
story,  including  the  after-history  of  the  miss- 
ing envelope,  you  must  fill  in  for  yourself,  be- 
cause there  are  reasons  why  it  cannot  be  writ- 
ten. If  you  do  not  know  about  things  Up 
Above,  you  won't  understand  how  to  fill  in,  and 
you  will  say  it  is  impossible. 

What  the  Viceroy  said  when  Tarrion  was 
introduced  to  him  was — "This  is  the  boy  who 
'rushed'  the  Government  of  India,  is  it?  Recol- 
lect, Sir,  that  is  not  done  twice."  So  he  must 
have  known  something. 

What  Tarion  said  when  he  saw  his^  appoint- 
ment gazetted  was — "If  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were 
twenty  years  younger,  and  I  her  husband,  I 
should  be  Viceroy  of  India  in  fifteen  years." 

What  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  when  Tarrion 
thanked  her,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  was 
first — "I  told  you  so!"  and  next,  to  herself — 
"What  fools  men  are!" 


THE  CONVERSION  OF 
AURELIAN  McGOGGIN. 


THE     CONVERSION     OF     AURELIAN 
McGOGGIN 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel, 
But,  once  in  a  way,  there  will  come  a  day 
When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 
The  lash  that   falls,   and  the  curb   that  galls,  and  the 
sting  of  the  rowelled  steel. 

— Life's  Handicap. 

THIS  is  not  a  tale  exactly.  It  is  a  Tract;  and 
I  am  immensely  proud  of  it.     Making  a 
Tract  is  a  Feat. 

Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  religious 
opinions;  but  no  man — least  of  all  a  junior — 
has  a  right  to  thrust  these  down  other  men's 
throats.  The  Government  sends  out  weird 
Civilians  now  and  again;  but  McGoggin  was 
the  queerest  exported  for  a  long  time.  He  was 
clever — brilliantly  clever — but  his  cleverness 
worked  the  wrong  way.  Instead  of  keeping  to 
the  study  of  the  vernaculars,  he  had  read  some 
books  written  by  a  man  called  Comte,  I  think, 
and  a  man  called  Spencer.  [You  will  find  these 
books  in  the  Library.]  They  deal  with  people's 
149 


150  THE  CONVERSION  OF 

insides  from  the  point  of  view  of  men  who 
have  no  stomachs.  There  was  no  order  against 
his  reading  them ;  but  his  Mamma  should  have 
smacked  him.  They  fermented  in  his  head,  and 
he  came  out  to  India  with  a  rarified  religion 
over  and  above  his  work.  It  was  not  much  of 
a  creed.  It  only  proved  that  men  had  no  souls, 
and  there  was  no  God  and  no  hereafter,  and 
that  you  must  worry  along  somehow  for  the 
good  of  Humanity. 

One  of  its  minor  tenets  seemed  to  be  that 
the  one  thing  more  sinful  than  giving  an  order 
was  obeying  it.  At  least,  that  was  what 
McGoggin  said;  but  I  suspect  he  had  misread 
his  primers. 

I  do  not  say  a  word  against  this  creed.  It 
was  made  up  in  Town  where  there  is  nothing 
but  machinery  and  asphalte  and  building — all 
shut  in  by  the  fog.  Naturally,  a  man  grows  to 
think  that  there  is  no  one  higher  than  himself, 
and  that  the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works 
made  everything.  But  in  India,  where  you 
really  see  humanity — raw,  brown,  naked  hu- 
manity— with  nothing  between  it  and  the  blaz- 
ing sky,  and  only  the  used-up,  over-handled 
earth  underfoot,  the  notion  somehow  dies  away, 
and  most  folk  come  back  to  simpler  theories. 
Life,  in  India,  is  not  long  enough  to  waste  in 


AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  151 

proving  that  there  is  no  one  in  particular  at 
the  head  of  affairs.  For  this  reason.  The 
Deputy  is  above  the  Assistant,  the  Commis- 
sioner above  the  Deputy,  the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor above  the  Commissioner,  and  the  Viceroy 
above  all  four,  under  the  orders  of  the  Secre- 
tary of  State  who  is  responsible  to  the  Em- 
press. If  the  Empress  be  not  responsible  to 
her  Maker — if  there  is  no  Maker  for  her  to  be 
responsible  to — the  entire  system  of  Our  ad- 
ministration must  be  wrong.  Which  is  mani- 
festly impossible.  At  Home  men  are  to  be 
excused.  They  are  stalled  up  a  good  deal  and 
get  intellectually  "beany."  When  you  take  a 
gross,  "beany"  horse  to  exercise,  he  slavers  and 
slobbers  over  the  bit  till  you  can't  see  the  horns. 
But  the  bit  is  there  just  the  same.  Men  do 
not  get  "beany"  in  India.  The  climate  and  the 
work  are  against  playing  bricks  with  words. 

If  McGoggin  had  kept  his  creed,  with  the 
capital  letters  and  the  endings  in  "isms,"  to 
himself,  no  one  would  have  cared;  but  his 
grandfathers  on  both  sides  had  been  Wesleyan 
preachers,  and  the  preaching  strain  came  out 
in  his  mind.  He  wanted  every  one  at  the  Club 
to  see  that  they  had  no  souls  too,  and  to  help 
him  to  eliminate  his  Creator.  As  a  good  many 
men  told  him,  he  undoubtedly  had  no  soul,  be- 


152  THE  CONVERSION  OF 

cause  he  was  so  young,  but  it  did  not  follow 
that  his  seniors  were  equally  undeveloped ;  and, 
whether  there  was  another  world  or  not,  a 
man  still  wanted  to  read  his  papers  in  this. 
"But  that  is  not  the  point — that  is  not  the 
point!"  Aurelian  used  to  say.  Then  men 
threw  sofa-cushions  at  him  and  told  him  to  go 
to  any  particular  place  he  might  believe  in. 
They  christened  him  the  "Blastoderm," — he 
said  he  came  from  a  family  of  that  name  some- 
where, in  the  prehistoric  ages, — and,  by  insult 
and  laughter  strove  to  choke  him  dumb,  for  he 
was  an  unmitigated  nuisance  at  the  Club;  be- 
sides being  an  offence  to  the  older  men.  His 
Deputy  Commissioner,  who  was  working  on 
the  Frontier  when  Aurelian  was  rolling  on  a 
bed-quilt,  told  him  that,  for  a  clever  boy,  Aure- 
lian was  a  very  big  idiot.  And,  if  he  had  gone 
on  with  his  work,  he  would  have  been  caught 
up  to  the  Sectariat  in  a  few  years.  He  was 
of  the  type  that  goes  there — all  head,  no  phy- 
sique and  a  hundred  theories.  Not  a  soul  was 
interested  in  McGoggin's  soul.  He  might  have 
had  two,  or  none,  or  somebody  else's.  His 
business  was  to  obey  orders  and  keep  abreast 
of  his  files,  instead  of  devastating  the  Club 
with  "isms." 

He  worked  brilliantly;  but  he  could  not  ac- 


AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  153 

cept  any  order  without  trying  to  better  it. 
That  was  the  fault  of  his  creed.  It  made  men 
too  responsible  and  left  too  much  to  their 
honor.  You  can  sometimes  ride  an  old  horse 
in  a  halter;  but  never  a  colt.  McGoggin  took 
more  trouble  over  his  cases  than  any  of  the 
men  of  his  year.  He  may  have  fancied  that 
thirty-page  judgments  on  fifty-rupee  cases — 
both  sides  perjured  to  the  gullet — advanced  the 
cause  of  Humanity.  At  any  rate,  he  worked 
too  much,  and  worried  and  fretted  over  the 
ridiculous  creed  out  of  office,  till  the  Doctor 
had  to  warn  him  that  he  was  over-doing  it. 
No  man  can  toil  eighteen  annas  in  the  rupee  in 
June  without  suffering.  But  McGoggin  was 
still  intellectually  "beany"  and  proud  of  him- 
self and  his  powers,  and  he  would  take  no  hint. 
He  worked  nine  hours  a  clay  steadily. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "you'll  break 
down,  because  you  are  over-engined  for  your 
beam."     McGoggin  was  a  little  man. 

One  day,  the  collapse  came — as  dramatically 
as  if  it  had  been  meant  to  embellish  a  Tract. 

It  was  just  before  the  Rains.  We  were 
sitting  in  the  veranda  in  the  dead,  hot,  close 
air,  gasping  and  praying  that  the  black-blue 
clouds  would  let  down  and  bring  the  cool. 
Very,  very  far  away,  there  was  a  faint  whis- 


154  THE  CONVERSION  OF 

per,  which  was  the  roar  of  the  Rains  breaking 
over  the  river.  One  of  the  men  heard  it,  got 
out  of  his  chair,  listened  and  said,  naturally- 
enough,  "Thank  God!" 

Then  the  Blastoderm  turned  in  his  place  and 
said,  "Why?  I  assure  you  it's  only  the  result 
of  perfectly  natural  causes — atmospheric  phe- 
nomena of  the  simplest  kind.  Why  you 
should,  therefore,  return  thanks  to  a  Being 
who  never  did  exist — who  is  only  a  figment" — 

"Blastoderm,"  grunted  the  man  in  the  next 
chair,  "dry  up,  and  throw  me  over  the  Pioneer. 
We  know  all  about  your  figments."  The  Blas- 
toderm reached  out  to  the  table,  took  up  one 
paper,  and  jumped  as  if  something  had  stung 
him.     Then  he  handed  the  paper. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  he  went  on  slowly  and 
with  an  effort — "due  to  perfectly  natural 
causes — perfectly  natural  causes.    I  mean" — 

"Hi !  Blastoderm,  you've  given  me  the  Cal- 
cutta Mercantile  Advertiser." 

The  dust  got  up  in  little  whorls,  while  the 
tree-tops  rocked  and  the  kites  whistled.  But 
no  one  was  looking  at  the  coming  of  the  Rains. 
We  were  all  staring  at  the  Blastoderm  who 
had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was  fighting  with 
his  speech.     Then  he  said,  still  more  slowly — 

Perfectly    conceivable dictionary 


AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  155 

red     oak amenable cause retaining 

shuttlecock alone." 

"Blastoderm's  drunk,"  said  one  man.  But 
the  Blastoderm  was  not  drunk.  He  looked  at 
us  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  and  began  motioning 
with  his  hands  in  the  half  light  as  the  clouds 
closed  overhead.     Then — with  a  scream — 

"What  is  it  ? Can't reserve at- 
tainable  market obscure" 

But  his  speech  seemed  to  freeze  in  him,  and 
— just  as  the  lightning  shot  two  tongues  that 
cut  the  whole  sky  into  three  pieces  and  the  rain 
fell  in  quivering  sheets — the  Blastoderm  was 
struck  dumb.  He  stood  pawing  and  champ- 
ing like  a  hard-held  horse,  and  his  eyes  were 
full  of  terror. 

The  Doctor  came  over  in  three  minutes,  and 
heard  the  story.  "It's  aphasia  "  he  said.  "Take 
him  to  his  room.  I  knew  the  smash  would 
come."  We  carried  the  Blastoderm  across  in 
the  pouring  rain  to  his  quarters,  and  the  Doc- 
tor gave  him  bromide  of  potassium  to  make 
him  sleep. 

Then  the  Doctor  came  back  to  us  and  told 
us  that  aphasia  was  like  all  the  arrears  of 
"Punjab  Head"  falling  in  a  lump;  and  that 
only  once  before — in  the  case  of  a  sepoy — had 
he  met  with  so  complete  a  case.  I  have  seen 
mild  aphasia  in  an  overworked  man,  but  this 


156  THE  CONVERSION  OF 

sudden  dumbness  was  uncanny — though,  as 
the  Blastoderm  himself  might  have  said,  due 
to  "perfectly  natural  causes." 

"He'll  have  to  take  leave  after  this,"  said 
the  Doctor.  "He  won't  be  fit  for  work  for 
another  three  months.  No;  it  isn't  insanity 
or  anything  like  it.  It's  only  complete  loss  of 
control  over  the  speech  and  memory.  I  fancy 
it  will  keep  the  Blastoderm  quiet,  though." 

Two  days  later,  the  Blastoderm  found  his 
tongue  again.  The  first  question  he  asked  was 
— "What  was  it?"  The  Doctor  enlightened 
him.  "But  I  can't  understand  it!"  said  the 
Blastoderm.  "I'm  quite  sane;  but  I  can't  be 
sure  of  my  mind,  it  seems — my  own  memory 
—can  I?" 

"Go  up  into  the  Hills  for  three  months,  and 
don't  think  about  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"But  I  can't  understand  it,"  repeated  the 
Blastoderm.  "It  was  my  own  mind  and 
memory." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  the  Doctor;  "there  are 
a  good  many  things  you  can't  understand ;  and, 
by  the  time  you  have  put  in  my  length  of  ser- 
vice, you'll  know  exactly  how  much  a  man 
dare  call  his  own  in  this  world." 

The  stroke  cowed  the  Blastoderm.  He  could 
not  understand  it.  He  went  into  the  Hills  in 
fear    and    trembling,    wondering   whether    he 


AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  157 

would  be  permitted  to  reach  the  end  of  any 
sentence  he  began. 

This  gave  him  a  wholesome  feeling  of  mis- 
trust. The  legitimate  explanation,  that  he  had 
been  overworking  himself,  failed  to  satisfy 
him.  Something  had  wiped  his  lips  of  speech, 
as  a  mother  wipes  the  milky  lips  of  her  child, 
and  he  was  afraid — horribly  afraid. 

So  the  Club  had  rest  when  he  returned,  and 
if  ever  you  come  across  Aurelian  McGoggin 
laying  down  the  law  on  things  Human — he 
doesn't  seem  to  know  as  much  as  he  used  to 
about  things  Divine — put  your  forefinger  to 
your  lip  for  a  moment,  and  see  what  happens. 

Don't  blame  me  if  he  throws  a  glass  at  your 
head. 


A   GERM-DESTROYER. 


A  GERM-DESTROYER 

Pleasant  it  is  for  the  Little  Tin  Gods 

When  great  Jove  nods ; 
But  Little  Tin  Gods  make  their  little  mistakes 
In  missing  the  hour  when  great  Jove  wakes. 

AS  a  general  rule,  it  is  inexpedient  to  meddle 
with  questions  of  State  in  a  land  where 
men  are  highly  paid  to  work  them  out  for  you. 
This  tale  is  a  justifiable  exception. 

Once  in  every  five  years,  as  you  know,  we 
indent  for  a  new  Viceroy;  and  each  Viceroy 
imports,  with  the  rest  of  his  baggage,  a  Pri- 
vate Secretary,  who  may  or  may  not  be  the 
real  Viceroy,  just  as  Fate  ordains.  Fate  looks 
after  the  Indian  Empire  because  it  is  so  big 
and  so  helpless. 

There  was  a  Viceroy  once,  who  brought  out 
with  him  a  turbulent  Private  Secretary — a  hard 
man  with  a  soft  manner  and  a  morbid  passion 
for  work.  This  Secretary  was  called  Wonder 
— John  Fennil  Wonder.  The  Viceroy  pos- 
sessed no  name — nothing  but  a  string  of  coun- 
161 


1 62  A  GERM-DESTROYER 

ties  and  two-thirds  of  the  alphabet  after  them. 
He  said,  in  confidence,  that  he  was  the  electro- 
plated figure-head  of  a  golden  administration, 
and  he  watched  in  a  dreamy,  amused  way 
Wonder's  attempts  to  draw  matters  which  were 
entirely  outside  his  province  into  his  own 
hands.  "When  we  are  all  cherubim  together," 
said  His  Excellency  once,  "my  dear,  good 
friend  Wonder  will  head  the  conspiracy  for 
plucking  out  Gabriel's  tail-feathers  or  stealing 
Peter's  keys.     Then  I  shall  report  him." 

But,  though  the  Viceroy  did  nothing  to 
check  Wonder's  officiousness,  other  people  said 
unpleasant  things.  Maybe  the  Members  of 
Council  began  it ;  but,  finally  all  Simla  agreed 
that  there  was  "too  much  Wonder,  and  too 
little  Viceroy"  in  that  rule.  Wonder  was  al- 
ways quoting  "His  Excellency."  It  was  "His 
Excellency  this,"  "His  Excellency  that,"  "In 
the  opinion  of  His  Excellency,"  and  so  on. 
The  Viceroy  smiled ;  but  he  did  not  heed.  He 
said  that,  so  long  as  his  old  men  squabbled 
with  his  "dear,  good  Wonder,"  they  might  be 
induced  to  leave  the  Immemorial  East  in  peace. 

"No  wise  man  has  a  Policy."  said  the  Vice- 
roy. "A  Policy  is  the  blackmail  levied  on  the 
Fool  by  the  Unforeseen.  I  am  not  the  former, 
and  I  do  not  believe  in  the  latter." 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  163 

I  do  not  quite  see  what  this  means,  unless  it 
refers  to  an  Insurance  Policy.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  Viceroy's  way  of  saying,  "Lie  low." 

That  season,  came  up  to  Simla  one  of  these 
crazy  people  with  only  a  single  idea.  These 
are  the  men  who  make  things  move ;  but  they 
are  not  nice  to  talk  to.  This  man's  name  was 
Mellish,  and  he  had  lived  for  fifteen  years  on 
land  of  his  own,  in  Lower  Bengal,  studying 
cholera.  He  held  that  cholera  was  a  germ  that 
propagated  itself  as  it  flew  through  a  muggy 
atmosphere ;  and  stuck  in  the  branches  of  trees 
like  a  wool-flake.  The  germ  could  be  rendered 
sterile,  he  said,  by  "Mellish's  Own  Invincible 
Fumigatory" — a  heavy  violet-black  powder — 
"the  result  of  fifteen  years'  scientific  investiga- 
tion, Sir!" 

Inventors  seem  very  much  alike  as  a  caste. 
They  talk  loudly,  especially  about  "conspira- 
cies of  monopolists" ;  they  beat  upon  the  table 
with  their  fists ;  and  thev  secrete  fragments  of 
their  inventions  about  their  persons. 

Mellish  said  that  there  was  a  Medical 
"Ring"  at  Simla,  headed  by  the  Surgeon-Gen- 
eral, who  was  in  league,  apparently,  with  all  the 
Hosoital  Assistants  in  the  Empire.  I  forget 
exactly  how  he  proved  it.  but  it  had  something 
to  do  with  "skulking  up  to  th°  Hills"  :  and  what 


1 64  A  GERM-DESTROYER 

Mellish  wanted  was  the  independent  evidence  of 
the  Viceroy — "Steward  of  our  Most  Gracious 
Majesty  the  Queen,  Sir."  So  Mellish  went  up 
to  Simla,  with  eighty-four  pounds  of  Fumi- 
gatory  in  his  trunk,  to  speak  to  the  Viceroy  and 
to  show  him  the  merits  of  the  invention. 

But  it  is  easier  to  see  a  Viceroy  than  to  talk 
to  him,  unless  you  chance  to  be  as  important  as 
Mellishe  of  Madras.  He  was  a  six-thousand- 
rupee  man,  so  great  that  his  daughters  never 
"married."  They  "contracted  alliances."  He 
himself  was  not  paid.  He  "received  emolu- 
ments," and  his  journeys  about  the  country 
were  "tours  of  observation."  His  business 
was  to  stir  up  the  people  in  Madras  with  a  long 
pole — as  you  stir  up  tench  in  a  pond — and  the 
people  had  to  come  up  out  of  their  comfortable 
old  ways  and  gasp — "This  is  Enlightenment 
and  Progress.  Isn't  it  fine!"  Then  they  gave 
Mellishe  statues  and  jasmine  garlands,  in  the 
hope  of  getting  rid  of  him. 

Mellishe  came  up  to  Simla  "to  confer  with 
the  Viceroy."  That  was  one  of  his  perquisites. 
The  Viceroy  knew  nothing  of  Mellishe  except 
that  he  was  "one  of  those  middle-class  deities 
who  seem  necessary  to  the  spiritual  comfort  of 
this  Paradise  of  the  Middle-classes,"  and  that, 
in  all  probability,  he  had  "suggested,  designed, 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  165 

founded,  and  endowed  all  the  public  institutions 
in  Madras."  Which  proves  that  His  Excel- 
lency, though  dreamy,  had  experience  of  the 
ways  of  six-thousand-rupee  men. 

Mellishe's  name  was  E.  Mellishe,  and  Mel- 
lish's  was  E.  S.  Mellish,  and  they  were  both 
staying  at  the  same  hotel,  and  the  Fate  that 
looks  after  the  Indian  Empire  ordained  that 
Wonder  should  blunder  and  drop  the  final  "e" ; 
that  the  Chaprassi  should  help  him,  and  that 
the  note  which  ran : 

Dear  Mr.  Mellish, — Can  you  set  aside  your  other 
engagements,  and  lunch  with  us  at  two  to-morrow? 
His  Excellency  has  an  hour  at  your  disposal  then, 

should  be  given  to  Mellish  with  the  Fumi- 
gatory.  He  nearly  wept  with  pride  and  de- 
light, and  at  the  appointed  hour  cantered  to 
Peterhoff,  a  big  paper-bag  full  of  the  Fumi- 
gatory  in  his  coat-tail  pockets.  He  had  his 
chance,  and  he  meant  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
Mellishe  of  Madras  had  been  so  portentously 
solemn  about  his  "conference,"  that  Wonder 
had  arranged  for  a  private  tiffin, — no  A.-D.- 
C.'s,  no  Wonder,  no  one  but  the  Viceroy,  who 
said  plaintively  that  he  feared  being  left  alone 
with  unmuzzled  autocrats  like  the  great  Mel- 
lishe of  Madras. 


1 66  A  GERM-DESTROYER 

But  his  guest  did  not  bore  the  Viceroy.  On 
the  contrary,  he  amused  him.  Mellish  was 
nervously  anxious  to  go  straight  to  his  Fumi- 
gatory,  and  talked  at  random  until  tiffin  was 
over  and  His  Excellency  asked  him  to  smoke. 
The  Viceroy  was  pleased  with  Mellish  because 
he  did  not  talk  "shop." 

As  soon  as  the  cheroots  were  lit,  Mellish 
spoke  like  a  man;  beginning  with  his  cholera- 
theory,  reviewing  his  fifteen  years'  "scientific 
labors,"  the  machinations  of  the  "Simla  Ring," 
and  the  excellence  of  his  Fumigatory,  while 
the  Viceroy  watched  him  between  half-shut 
eyes  and  thought — "Evidently  this  is  the  wrong 
tiger;  but  it  is  an  original  animal."  Mellish's 
hair  was  standing  on  end  with  excitement,  and 
he  stammered.  He  began  groping  in  his  coat- 
tails  and,  before  the  Viceroy  knew  what  was 
about  to  happen,  he  had  tipped  a  bagful  of  his 
powder  into  the  big  silver  ash-tray. 

"J-j-judge  for  yourself,  Sir,"  said  Mellish. 
"Y'  Excellency  shall  judge  for  yourself!  Ab- 
solutely infallible,  on  my  honor." 

He  plunged  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into 
the  powder,  which  began  to  smoke  like  a  vol- 
cano, and  send  up  fat,  greasy  wreaths  of  cop- 
per-colored smoke.  In  five  seconds  the  room 
was  filled  with  a  most  pungent  and  sickening 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  167 

stench — a  reek  that  took  fierce  hold  of  the  trap 
of  your  windpipe  and  shut  it.  The  powder 
hissed  and  fizzed,  and  sent  out  blue  and  green 
sparks,  and  the  smoke  rose  till  you  could 
neither  see,  nor  breathe,  nor  gasp.  Mellish, 
however,  was  used  to  it. 

"Nitrate  of  strontia,"  he  shouted;  "baryta, 
bone-meal  ct  cetera!  Thousand  cubic  feet 
smoke  per  cubic  inch.  Not  a  germ  could  live — 
not  a  germ,  Y'  Excellency !" 

But  His  Excellency  had  fled,  and  was  cough- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  all  PeterhofT 
hummed  like  a  hive.  Red  Lancers  came  in,  and 
the  head  Chaprassi,  who  speaks  English,  came 
in,  and  mace-bearers  came  in,  and  ladies  ran 
downstairs  screaming  "Fire" ;  for  the  smoke 
was  drifting  through  the  house  and  oozing  out 
of  the  windows,  and  bellying  along  the  veran- 
das, and  wreathing  and  writhing  across  the 
gardens.  No  one  could  enter  the  room  where 
Mellish  was  lecturing  on  his  Fumigatory,  till 
that  unspeakable  powder  had  burned  itself  out. 

Then  an  Aide-de-Camp,  who  desired  the  V. 
C,  rushed  through  the  rolling  clouds  and 
hauled  Mellish  into  the  hall.  The  Viceroy  was 
prostrate  with  laughter,  and  could  only  waggle 
his  hands  feebly  at  Mellish.  who  was  shaking  a 
fresh  bagful  of  powder  at  him. 


1 68  A  GERM-DESTROYER 

"Glorious!  Glorious!"  sobbed  His  Excel- 
lency. "Not  a  germ,  as  you  justly  observe, 
could  exist!  I  can  swear  it.  A  magnificent 
success!" 

Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and 
Wonder,  who  had  caught  the  real  Mellishe 
snorting  on  the  Mall,  entered  and  was  deeply 
shocked  at  the  scene.  But  the  Viceroy  was  de- 
lighted, because  he  saw  that  Wonder  would 
presently  depart.  Mellish  with  the  Fumi- 
gatory  was  also  pleased,  for  he  felt  that  he  had 
smashed  the  Simla  Medical  "Ring." 


Few  men  could  tell  a  story  like  His  Excel- 
lency when  he  took  the  trouble,  and  his  account 
of  "my  dear,  good  Wonder's  friend  with  the 
powder"  went  the  round  of  Simla,  and  flippant 
folk  made  Wonder  unhappy  by  their  remarks. 

But  His  Excellency  told  the  tale  once  too 
often — for  Wonder.  As  he  meant  to  do.  It 
was  at  a  Seepee  Picnic.  Wonder  was  sitting 
just  behind  the  Viceroy. 

"And  I  really  thought  for  a  moment," 
wound  up  His  Excellency,  "that  my  dear  good 
Wonder  had  hired  an  assassin  to  clear  his  way 
to  the  throne!" 

Every  one  laughed ;  but  there  was  a  delicate 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  169 

sub-tinkle  in  the  Viceroy's  tone  which  Wonder 
understood.  He  found  that  his  health  was 
giving  way,  and  the  Viceroy  allowed  him  to 
go,  and  presented  him  with  a  flaming  "charac- 
ter" for  use  at  Home  among  big  people. 

"My  fault  entirely,"  said  His  Excellency,  in 
after  seasons,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "My 
inconsistency  must  always  have  been  distaste- 
ful to  such  a  masterly  man." 


KIDNAPPED 


KIDNAPPED 


There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad, 
And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 
No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting. 
You  cannot  stop  the  tide ;  but,  now  and  then, 
You  may  arrest  some  rash  adventurer 
Who — h'm — will  hardly  thank  you  for  your  pains. 
— Vibart's  Moralities. 


WE  are  a  high-caste  and  enlightened  race, 
and  infant-marriage  is  very  shocking 
and  the  consequences  are  sometimes  peculiar; 
but,  nevertheless,  the  Hindu  notion — which  is 
the  Continental  notion,  which  is  the  aboriginal 
notion — of  arranging  marriages  irrespective  of 
the  personal  inclinations  of  the  married,  is 
sound.  Think  for  a  minute,  and  you  will  see 
that  it  must  be  so ;  unless,  of  course,  you  believe 
in  "affinities."  In  which  case  you  had  better 
not  read  this  tale.  How  can  a  man  who  has 
never  married;  who  cannot  be  trusted  to  pick 
up  at  sight  a  moderately  sound  horse;  whose 
head  is  hot  and  upset  with  visions  of  domestic 
173 


174  KIDNAPPED 

felicity,  go  about  the  choosing  of  a  wife?  He 
cannot  see  straight  or  think  straight  if  he 
tries;  and  the  same  disadvantages  exist  in  case 
of  a  girl's  fancies.  But  when  mature,  married, 
and  discreet  people  arrange  a  match  between  a 
boy  and  a  girl,  they  do  it  sensibly,  with  a  view 
to  the  future,  and  the  young  couple  live  happily 
ever  afterward.     As  everybody  knows. 

Properly  speaking,  Government  should  es- 
tablish a  Matrimonial  Department,  efficiently 
officered,  with  a  Jury  of  Matrons,  a  Judge  of 
the  Chief  Court,  a  Senior  Chaplain,  and  an 
Awful  Warning,  in  the  shape  of  a  love-match 
that  has  gone  wrong,  chained  to  trees  in  the 
courtyard.  All  marriages  should  be  made 
through  the  Department,  which  might  be 
subordinate  to  the  Educational  Department, 
under  the  same  penalty  as  that  attaching  to  the 
transfer  of  land  without  a  stamped  document. 
But  Government  won't  take  suggestions.  It 
pretends  that  it  is  too  busy.  However,  I  will 
put  my  notion  on  record,  and  explain  the  ex- 
ample that  illustrates  the  theory. 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  good  young 
man — a  first-class  officer  in  his  own  Depart- 
ment— a  man  with  a  career  before  him  and, 
possibly,  a  K.C.I. E.  at  the  end  of  it.  All  his 
superiors  spoke  well  of  him,  because  he  knew 


KIDNAPPED  175 

how  to  hold  his  tongue  and  his  pen  at  the 
proper  times.  There  are,  to-day,  only  eleven 
men  in  India  who  possess  this  secret ;  and  they 
have  all,  with  one  exception,  attained  great 
honor  and  enormous  incomes. 

This  good  young  man  was  quiet  and  self- 
contained — too  old  for  his  years  by  far. 
Which  always  carries  its  own  punishment. 
Had  a  Subaltern,  or  a  Tea-Planter's  Assistant, 
or  anybody  who  enjoys  life  and  has  no  care 
for  to-morrow,  done  what  he  tried  to  do,  not 
a  soul  would  have  cared.  But  when  Pey- 
throppe — the  estimable,  virtuous,  economical, 
quiet,  hard-working,  young  Peythroppe — fell, 
there  was  a  flutter  through  five  Departments. 

The  manner  of  his  fall  was  in  this  way.  He 
met  a  Miss  Castries — d'Castries  it  was  orig- 
inally, but  the  family  dropped  the  d'  for  ad- 
ministrative reasons — and  he  fell  in  love  with 
her  even  more  energetically  than  he  worked. 
Understand  clearly  that  there  was  not  a  breath 
of  a  word  to  be  said  against  Miss  Castries — 
not  a  shadow  of  a  breath.  She  was  good  and 
very  lovely — possessed  what  innocent  people 
at  Home  call  a  "Spanish"  complexion,  with 
thick  blue-black  hair  growing  low  down  on 
the  forehead,  into  a  "widow's  peak,"  and  big 
violet   eyes   under  eyebrows   as   black  and  as 


176  KIDNAPPED 

straight  as  the  borders  of  a  Gazette  Extraor- 
dinary, when  a  big  man  dies.    But but- 


but Well,  she  was  a  very  sweet  girl  and 

very  pious,  but  for  many  reasons  she  was  "im- 
possible." Quite  so.  All  good  Mammas  know 
what  "impossible"  means.  It  was  obviously 
absurd  that  Peythroppe  should  marry  her. 
The  little  opal-tinted  onyx  at  the  base  of  her 
finger  nails  said  this  as  plainly  as  print.  Fur- 
ther, marriage  with  Miss  Castries  meant  mar- 
riage with  several  other  Castries — Honorary 
Lieutenant  Castries  her  Papa,  Mrs.  Eulalie 
Castries  her  Mamma,  and  all  the  ramifications 
of  the  Castries  family,  on  incomes  ranging 
from  Rs.175  to  Rs.470  a  month,  and  their 
wives  and  connections  again. 

It  would  have  been  cheaper  for  Peythroppe 
to  have  assaulted  a  Commissioner  with  a  dog 
whip,  or  to  have  burned  the  records  of  a 
Deputy-Commissioner's  Office,  than  to  have 
contracted  an  alliance  with  the  Castries.  It 
would  have  weighted  his  after-career  less — 
even  under  a  Government  which  never  forgets 
and  never  forgives.  Everybody  saw  this  but 
Peythroppe.  He  was  going  to  marry  Miss 
Castries,  he  was — being  of  age  and  drawing  a 
good  income — and  woe  betide  the  house  that 
would    not    afterward    receive    Mrs.    Virginie 


KIDNAPPED  177 

Saulez  Peythroppe  with  the  deference  due  to 
her  husband's  rank.  That  was  Peythroppe's 
ultimatum,  and  any  remonstrance  drove  him 
frantic. 

These  sudden  madnesses  most  afflict  the 
sanest  men.  There  was  a  case  once — but  I 
will  tell  you  of  that  later  on.  You  cannot  ac- 
count for  the  mania  except  under  a  theory 
directly  contradicting  the  one  about  the  Place 
wherein  marriages  are  made.  Peythroppe  was 
burningly  anxious  to  put  a  millstone  round  his 
neck  at  the  outset  of  his  career;  and  argument 
had  not  the  least  effect  on  him.  He  was  going 
to  marry  Miss  Castries,  and  the  business  was 
his  own  business.  He  would  thank  you  to  keep 
your  advice  to  yourself.  With  a  man  in  this 
condition,  mere  words  only  fix  him  in  his  pur- 
pose. Of  course  he  cannot  see  that  marriage 
in  India  does  not  concern  the  individual  but 
the  Government  he  serves. 

Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Hauksbee — the  most 
wonderful  woman  in  India  ?  She  saved  Pluffles 
from  Mrs.  Reiver,  won  Tarrion  his  appoint- 
ment in  the  Foreign  Office,  and  was  defeated 
in  open  field  by  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil.  She 
heard  of  the  lamentable  condition  of  Pey- 
throppe, and  her  brain  struck  out  the  plan  that 
saved  him.     She  had  the  wisdom  of  the  Ser- 


178  KIDNAPPED 

pent,  the  logical  coherence  of  the  Man,  the 
fearlessness  of  the  Child,  and  the  triple  in- 
tuition of  the  Woman.  Never — no,  never — as 
long  as  a  tonga  buckets  down  the  Solon  dip, 
or  the  couples  go  a-riding  at  the  back  of  Sum- 
mer Hill,  will  there  be  such  a  genius  as  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  She  attended  the  consultation  of 
Three  Men  on  Peythroppe's  case ;  and  she  stood 
up  with  the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  between 
her  lips  and  spake. 


Three  weeks  later,  Peythroppe  dined  with 
the  Three  Men,  and  the  Gazette  of  India  came 
in.  Peythroppe  found  to  his  surprise  that  he 
had  been  gazetted  a  month's  leave.  Don't  ask 
me  how  this  was  managed.  I  believe  firmly 
that,  if  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  the  order,  the 
whole  Great  Indian  Administration  would 
stand  on  its  head.  The  Three  Men  had  also  a 
month's  leave  each.  Peythroppe  put  the 
Gazette  down  and  said  bad  words.  Then  there 
came  from  the  compound  the  soft  "pad-pad" 
of  camels — "thieves'  camels,"  the  Bikaneer 
breed  that  don't  bubble  and  howl  when  they 
sit  down  and  get  up. 

After  that,  I  don't  know  what  happened. 
This  much  is  certain.     Peythroppe  disappeared 


KIDNAPPED  179 

— vanished  like  smoke — and  the  long  foot-rest 
chair  in  the  house  of  the  Three  Men  was  broken 
to  splinters.  Also  a  bedstead  departed  from 
one  of  the  bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  that  Mr.  Peythroppe 
was  shooting  in  Rajputana  with  the  Three 
Men ;  so  we  were  compelled  to  believe  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  Peythroppe  was 
gazetted  twenty  days'  extension  of  leave:  but 
there  was  wrath  and  lamentation  in  the  house 
of  Castries.  The  marriage-day  had  been  fixed, 
but  the  bridegroom  never  came ;  and  the 
D'Silvas,  Pereiras,  and  Ducketts  lifted  their 
voices  and  mocked  Honorary  Lieutenant  Cas- 
tries as  one  who  had  been  basely  imposed  upon. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  went  to  the  wedding,  and  was 
much  astonished  when  Peythroppe  did  not  ap- 
pear. After  seven  weeks,  Peythroppe  and  the 
Three  Men  returned  from  Rajputana.  Pey- 
throppe was  in  hard,  tough  condition,  rather 
white,  and  more  self-contained  than  ever. 

One  of  the  Three  Men  had  a  cut  on  his  nose, 
caused  by  the  kick  of  a  gun.  Twelve-bores 
kick  rather  curiously. 

Then  came  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries, 
seeking  for  the  blood  of  his  perfidious  son-in- 
law  to  be.  He  said  things — vulgar  and  "im- 
possible" things  which  showed  the  raw  rough 


180  KIDNAPPED 

"ranker"  below  the  "Honorary,"  and  I  fancy 
Peythroppe's  eyes  were  opened.  Anyhow,  he 
held  his  peace  till  the  end;  when  he  spoke 
briefly.  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  asked 
for  a  "peg,"  before  he  went  away  to  die  or 
bring-  a  suit  for  breach  of  promise. 

Miss  Castries  was  a  very  good  girl.  She 
said  that  she  would  have  no  breach  of  promise 
suits.  She  said  that,  if  she  was  not  a  lady,  she 
was  refined  enough  to  know  that  ladies  kept 
their  broken  hearts  to  themselves;  and,  as  she 
ruled  her  parents,  nothing  happened.  Later 
on,  she  married  a  most  respectable  and  gen- 
tlemanly person.  He  traveled  for  an  enter- 
prising firm  in  Calcutta,  and  was  all  that  a  good 
husband  should  be. 

So  Peythroppe  came  to  his  right  mind  again, 
and  did  much  good  work,  and  was  honored  by 
all  who  knew  him.  One  of  these  days  he  will 
marry;  but  he  will  marry  a  sweet  pink-and- 
white  maiden,  on  the  Government  House  List, 
with  a  little  money  and  some  influential  con- 
nections, as  every  wise  man  should.  And  he 
will  never,  all  his  life,  tell  her  what  happened 
during  the  seven  weeks  of  his  shooting-tour  in 
Rajputana. 

But  just  think  how  much  trouble  and  ex- 
pense— for  camel-hire  is  not  cheap,  and  those 


KIDNAPPED  181 

Bikaneer  brutes  had  to  be  fed  like  humans — 
might  have  been  saved  by  a  properly  conducted 
Matrimonial  Department,  under  the  control  of 
the  Director-General  of  Education  but  corre- 
sponding direct  with  the  Viceroy. 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT 
GOLIGHTLY 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT 
GOLIGHTLY 

"I've  forgotten  the  countersign,"  sez  'e. 

"Oh!    You  'ave,  'ave  you?"  sez  I. 

"But  I'm  the  Colonel,"  sez  'e. 

"Oh!  You  are,  are  you?"  sez  I.  "Colonel  nor  no 
Colonel,  you  waits  'ere  till  I'm  relieved,  an'  the  Sarjint 
reports  on  your  ugly  old  mug.     Choop!"  sez  I. 

An'  s'elp  me  soul,  'twas  the  Colonel  after  all !  But  I 
was  a  recruity  then. 
— The  Unedited  Autobiography  of  Private  Otheris. 

TF  there  was  one  thing  on  which  Golightly 
"*•  prided  himself  more  than  another,  it  was 
looking  like  "an  Officer  and  a  Gentleman."  He 
said  it  was  for  the  honor  of  the  Service  that 
he  attired  himself  so  elaborately ;  but  those 
who  knew  him  best  said  it  was  just  personal 
vanity.  There  was  no  harm  about  Golightly 
— not  an  ounce.  He  recognized  a  horse  when 
he  saw  one,  and  could  do  more  than  fill  a  can- 
tie.  He  played  a  very  fair  game  at  billiards, 
and  was  a  sound  man  at  the  whist-table.  Every 
one  liked  him;  and  nobody  ever  dreamed  of 
seeing  him  handcuffed  on  a  station  platform 
as  a  deserter.  But  this  sad  thing  happened. 
185 


1 86  THE  ARREST  OF 

He  was  going  down  from  Dalhousie,  at  the 
end  of  his  leave — riding  down.  He  had  run 
his  leave  as  fine  as  he  dared,  and  wanted  to 
come  down  in  a  hurry. 

It  was  fairly  warm  at  Dalhousie,  and,  know- 
ing what  to  expect  below,  he  descended  in  a 
new  khaki  suit — tight  fitting — of  a  delicate 
olive-green;  a  peacock-blue  tie,  white  collar, 
and  a  snowy  white  solah  helmet.  He  prided 
himself  on  looking  neat  even  when  he  was  rid- 
ing post.  He  did  look  neat,  and  he  was  so 
deeply  concerned  about  his  appearance  before 
he  started  that  he  quite  forgot  to  take  anything 
but  some  small  change  with  him.  He  left  all 
his  notes  at  the  hotel.  His  servants  had  gone 
down  the  road  before  him,  to  be  ready  in  wait- 
ing at  Pathankote  with  a  change  of  gear. 
That  was  what  he  called  traveling  in  "light 
marching-order."  He  was  proud  of  his  fac- 
ulty of  organization — what  we  call  bundobust. 

Twenty-two  miles  out  of  Dalhousie  it  be- 
gan to  rain — not  a  mere  hill-shower  but  a 
good,  tepid,  monsoonish  downpour.  Go- 
lightly  bustled  on,  wishing  that  he  had  brought 
an  umbrella.  The  dust  on  the  roads  turned 
into  mud,  and  the  pony  mired  a  good  deal. 
So  did  Golightly's  khaki  gaiters.  But  he  kept 
on  steadily  and  tried  to  think  how  pleasant  the 
coolth  was. 


LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY        187 

His  next  pony  was  rather  a  brute  at  start- 
ing, and,  Golightly's  hands  being  slippery  with 
the  rain,  contrived  to  get  rid  of  Golightly  at 
a  corner.  He  chased  the  animal,  caught  it, 
and  went  ahead  briskly.  The  spill  had  not  im- 
proved his  clothes  or  his  temper,  and  he  had 
lost  one  spur.  He  kept  the  other  one  em- 
ployed. By  the  time  that  stage  was  ended,  the 
pony  had  as  much  exercise  as  he  wanted,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  rain,  Golightly  was  sweating 
freely.  At  the  end  of  another  miserable  half 
hour  Golightly  found  the  world  disappear  be- 
fore his  eyes  in  clammy  pulp.  The  rain  had 
turned  the  pith  of  his  huge  and  snowy  solah- 
topee  into  an  evil-smelling  dough,  and  it  had 
closed  on  his  head  like  a  half-opened  mush- 
room. Also  the  green  lining  was  beginning 
to  run. 

Golightly  did  not  say  anything  worth  re- 
cording here.  He  tore  off  and  squeezed  up  as 
much  of  the  brim  as  was  in  his  eyes  and 
ploughed  on.  The  back  of  the  helmet  was  flap- 
ping on  his  neck  and  the  sides  stuck  to  his  ears, 
but  the  leather  band  and  green  lining  kept 
things  roughly  together,  so  that  the  hat  did 
not  actually  melt  away  where  it  flapped. 

Presently,  the  pulp  and  the  green  stuff  made 
a  sort  of  slimy  mildew  which  ran  over  Go- 


1 88  THE  ARREST  OF 

lightly  in  several  directions — down  his  back 
and  bosom  for  choice.  The  khaki  color  ran 
too — it  was  really  shockingly  bad  dye — and 
sections  of  Golightly  were  brown,  and  patches 
were  violet,  and  contours  were  ochre,  and 
streaks  were  ruddy-red,  and  blotches  were 
nearly  white,  according  to  the  nature  and  pe- 
culiarities of  the  dye.  When  he  took  out  his 
handkerchief  to  wipe  his  face,  and  the  green  of 
the  hat-lining  and  the  purple  stuff  that  had 
soaked  through  on  to  his  neck  from  the  tie  be- 
came thoroughly  mixed,  the  effect  was  amaz- 
ing. 

Near  Dhar  the  rain  stopped  and  the  evening 
sun  came  out  and  dried  him  up  slightly.  It 
fixed  the  colors,  too.  Three  miles  from 
Pathankote  the  last  pony  fell  dead  lame,  and 
Golightly  was  forced  to  walk.  He  pushed  on 
into  Pathankote  to  find  his  servants.  He  did 
not  know  then  that  his  khitmatgar  had  stopped 
by  the  roadside  to  get  drunk,  and  would  come 
on  the  next  day  saying  that  he  had  sprained  his 
ankle.  When  he  got  into  Pathankote  he 
couldn't  find  his  servants,  his  boots  were  stiff 
and  ropy  with  mud,  and  there  were  large 
quantities  of  dust  about  his  body.  The  blue 
tie  had  run  as  much  as  the  khaki.  So  he  took 
it  off  with  the  collar  and  threw  it  away.    Then 


LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY       189 

he  said  something  about  servants  generally 
and  tried  to  get  a  peg.  He  paid  eight  annas 
for  the  drink,  and  this  revealed  to  him  that  he 
had  only  six  annas  more  in  his  pocket — or  in 
the  world  as  he  stood  at  that  hour. 

He  went  to  the  Station-Master  to  negotiate 
for  a  first-class  ticket  to  Khasa,  where  he  was 
stationed.  The  booking-clerk  said  something 
to  the  Station-Master,  the  Station-Master  said 
something  to  the  Telegraph  Clerk,  and  the 
three  looked  at  him  with  curiosity.  They 
asked  him  to  wait  for  half  an  hour,  while  they 
telegraphed  to  Umritsar  for  authority.  So  he 
waited  and  four  constables  came  and  grouped 
themselves  picturesquely  round  him.  Just  as 
he  was  preparing  to  ask  them  to  go  away,  the 
Station-Master  said  that  he  would  give  the 
Sahib  a  ticket  to  Umritsar,  if  the  Sahib  would 
kindly  come  inside  the  booking-office.  Go- 
lightly  stepped  inside,  and  the  next  thing  he 
knew  was  that  a  constable  was  attached  to 
each  of  his  legs  and  arms,  while  the  Station- 
Master  was  trying  to  cram  a  mail-bag  over  his 
head. 

There  was  a  very  fair  scuffle  all  round  the 
booking-office,  and  Golightly  took  a  nasty  cut 
over  his  eye  through  falling  against  a  table. 
But  the  constables  were  too  much  for  him, 


190  THE  ARREST  OF 

and  they  and  the  Station-Master  handcuffed 
him  securely.  As  soon  as  the  mail-bag  was 
slipped,  he  began  expressing  his  opinions,  and 
the  head  constable  said,  "Without  doubt  this 
is  the  soldier-Englishman  we  required.  Lis- 
ten to  the  abuse!"  Then  Golightly  asked  the 
Station-Master  what  the  this  and  the  that  the 
proceedings  meant.  The  Station-Master  told 
him   he    was    "Private   John    Binkle    of   the 

Regiment,  5  ft.  9  in.,  fair  hair,  grey  eyes, 

and  a  dissipated  appearance,  no  marks  on  the 
body,"  who  had  deserted  a  fortnight  ago.  Go- 
lightly  began  explaining  at  great  length;  and 
the  more  he  explained  the  less  the  Station- 
Master  believed  him.  He  said  that  no  Lieu- 
tenant could  look  such  a  ruffian  as  did  Go- 
lightly,  and  that  his  instructions  were  to  send 
his  capture  under  proper  escort  to  Umritsar. 
Golightly  was  feeling  very  damp  and  uncom- 
fortable and  the  language  he  used  was  not  fit 
for  publication,  even  in  an  expurgated  form. 
The  four  constables  saw  him  safe  to  Umritsar 
in  an  "intermediate"  compartment,  and  he 
spent  the  four-hour  journey  in  abusing  them  as 
fluently  as  his  knowledge  of  the  vernaculars  al- 
lowed. 

At  Umritsar  he  was  bundled  out  on  the  plat- 
form into  the  arms  of  a  Corporal  and  two  men 


LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY       191 

of  the  Regiment.  Golightly  drew  him- 
self up  and  tried  to  carry  off  matters  jauntily. 
He  did  not  feel  too  jaunty  in  handcuffs,  with 
four  constables  behind  him,  and  the  blood 
from  the  cut  on  his  forehead  stiffening  on  his 
left  cheek.  The  Corporal  was  not  jocular 
either.  Golightly  got  as  far  as — "This  is  a 
very  absurd  mistake,  my  men,"  when  the  Cor- 
poral told  him  to  "stow  his  lip"  and  come 
along.  Golightly  did  not  want  to  come  along. 
He  desired  to  stop  and  explain.  He  explained 
very  well  indeed,  until  the  Corporal  cut  in  with 
— "You  a  orficer!  It's  the  like  o'  you  as 
brings  disgrace  on  the  likes  of  us.  Bloomin' 
fine  orficer  you  are!  I  know  your  regiment. 
The  Rogue's  March  is  the  quickstep  where 
you  come  from.  You're  a  black  shame  to  the 
Service." 

Golightly  kept  his  temper,  and  began  ex- 
plaining all  over  again  from  the  beginning. 
Then  he  was  inarched  out  of  the  rain  into  the 
refreshment  room  and  told  not  to  make  a  qual- 
ified fool  of  himself.  The  men  were  going  to 
run  him  up  to  Fort  Govindghar.  And  "run- 
ning up"  is  a  performance  almost  as  undigni- 
fied as  the  Frog  March. 

Golightly  was  nearly  hysterical  with  rage 
and  the  chill  and  the  mistake  and  the  hand- 
cuffs and  the  headache  that  the  cut  on  his  fore- 


192  THE  ARREST  OF 

head  had  given  him.  He  really  laid  himself 
out  to  express  what  was  in  his  mind.  When 
he  had  quite  finished  and  his  throat  was  feel- 
ing dry,  one  of  the  men  said,  "I've  'eard  a  few 
beggars  in  the  clink  blind,  stiff  and  crack  on 
a  bit;  but  I've  never  'eard  any  one  to  touch 
this  ere  'orficer.'  "  They  were  not  angry  with 
him.  They  rather  admired  him.  They  had 
some  beer  at  the  refreshment  room,  and  of- 
fered Golightly  some  too,  because  he  had 
"swore  won'erful."  They  asked  him  to  tell 
them  all  about  the  adventures  of  Private  John 
Binkle  while  he  was  loose  on  the  country-side ; 
and  that  made  Golightly  wilder  than  ever.  If 
he  had  kept  his  wits  about  him  he  would  have 
been  quiet  until  an  officer  came;  but  he  at- 
tempted to  run. 

Now  the  butt  of  a  Martini  in  the  small  of 
your  back  hurts  a  great  deal,  and  rotten,  rain- 
soaked  khaki  tears  easily  when  two  men  are 
yerking  at  your  collar. 

Golightly  rose  from  the  floor  feeling  very 
sick  and  giddy,  with  his  shirt  ripped  open  all 
down  his  breast  and  nearly  all  down  his  back. 
He  yielded  to  his  luck,  and  at  that  point  the 
down-train  from  Lahore  came  in,  carrying  one 
of  Golightly's  Majors. 

This  is  the  Major's  evidence  in  full — 

"There  was  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  in  the  sec- 


LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY       193 

ond-class  refeshment-room,  so  I  went  in  and 
saw  the  most  villainous  loafer  that  I  ever  set 
eyes  on.  His  boots  and  breeches  were  plas- 
tered with  mud  and  beer-stains.  He  wore  a 
muddy-white  dunghill  sort  of  thing  on  his 
head,  and  it  hung  down  in  slips  on  his  should- 
ers, which  were  a  good  deal  scratched.  He 
was  half  in  and  half  out  of  a  shirt  as  nearly  in 
two  pieces  as  it  could  be,  and  he  was  begging 
the  guard  to  look  at  the  name  on  the  tail  of  it. 
As  he  had  rucked  the  shirt  all  over  his  head, 
I  couldn't  at  first  see  who  he  was,  but  I  fancied 
that  he  was  a  man  in  the  first  stage  of  D.  T. 
from  the  way  he  swore  while  he  wrestled  with 
his  rags.  When  he  turned  round,  and  I  had 
made  allowances  for  a  lump  as  big  as  a  pork- 
pie  over  one  eye,  and  some  green  war-paint 
on  the  face,  and  some  violet  stripes  round 
the  neck,  I  saw  that  it  was  Golightly.  He  was 
very  glad  to  see  me,"  said  the  Major,  "and  he 
hoped  I  would  not  tell  the  Mess  about  it.  / 
didn't,  but  you  can,  if  you  like,  now  that  Go- 
lightly  has  gone  Home." 

Golightly  spent  the  greater  part  of  that 
summer  in  trying  to  get  the  Corporal  and  the 
two  soldiers  tried  by  Court-Martial  for  ar- 
resting "an  Officer  and  a  Gentleman."  They 
were,  of  course,  very  sorry  for  their  error. 
But  the  tale  leaked  into  the  regimental  canteen, 
and  thence  ran  about  the  Province. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 

And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange: 
Churel  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 
Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 
For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 

Wherein  the  Powers  of  Darkness  range. 

— From  the  Dusk  to  the  Dawn. 

THE  house  of  Suddhoo,  near  the  Taksali 
Gate,  is  two-storied,  with  four  carved  win- 
dows of  old  brown  wood,  and  a  flat  roof.  You 
may  recognize  it  by  five  red  hand-prints  ar- 
ranged like  the  Five  of  Diamonds  on  the  white- 
wash between  the  upper  windows.  Bhagwan 
Dass  the  grocer  and  a  man  who  says  he  gets 
his  living  by  seal-cutting  live  in  the  lower  story 
with  a  troop  of  wives,  servants,  friends,  and 
retainers.  The  two  upper  rooms  used  to  be  oc- 
cupied by  Janoo  and  Azizun  and  a  little  black- 
and-tan  terrier  that  was  stolen  from  an  Eng- 
lishman's house  and  given  to  Janoo  by  a 
soldier.  To-day,  only  Janoo  lives  in  the  upper 
rooms.  Suddhoo  sleeps  on  the  roof  generally, 
197 


198  IN  THE  HOUSE 

except  when  he  sleeps  in  the  street.  He  used 
to  go  to  Peshawar  in  the  cold  weather  to  visit 
his  son  who  sells  curiosities  near  the  Edwardes' 
Gate,  and  then  he  slept  under  a  real  mud  roof. 
Suddhoo  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,  because  his 
cousin  had  a  son  who  secured,  thanks  to  my 
recommendation,  the  post  of  head-messenger 
to  a  big  firm  in  the  Station.  Suddhoo  says  that 
God  will  make  me  a  Lieutenant-Governor  one 
of  these  days.  I  dare  say  his  prophecy  will 
come  true.  He  is  very,  very  old,  with  white 
hair  and  no  teeth  worth  showing,  and  he  has 
outlived  his  wits — outlived  nearly  everything 
except  his  fondness  for  his  son  at  Peshawar. 
Janoo  and  Azizun  are  Kashmiris,  Ladies  of  the 
City,  and  theirs  was  an  ancient  and  more  or 
less  honorable  profession ;  but  Azizun  has  since 
married  a  medical  student  from  the  Northwest 
and  has  settled  down  to  a  most  respectable  life 
somewhere  near  Bareilly.  Bhagwan  Dass  is 
an  extortionate  and  an  adulterator.  He  is  very 
rich.  The  man  who  is  supposed  to  get  his  liv- 
ing by  seal-cutting  pretends  to  be  very  poor. 
This  lets  you  know  as  much  as  is  necessary  of 
the  four  principal  tenants  in  the  house  of 
Suddhoo.  Then  there  is  Me  of  course;  but  I 
am  only  the  chorus  that  comes  in  at  the  end 
to  explain  things.    So  I  do  not  count. 


OF  SUDDHOO  199 

Suddhoo  was  not  clever.  The  man  who  pre- 
tended to  cut  seals  was  the  cleverest  of  them 
all — Bhagwan  Dass  only  knew  how  to  He — 
except  Janoo.  She  was  also  beautiful,  but  that 
was  her  own  affair. 

Suddhoo's  son  at  Peshawar  was  attacked  by 
pleurisy,  and  old  Suddhoo  was  troubled.  The 
seal-cutter  man  heard  of  Suddhoo's  anxiety 
and  made  capital  out  of  it.  He  was  abreast  of 
the  times.  He  got  a  friend  in  Peshawar  to 
telegraph  daily  accounts  of  the  son's  health. 
And  here  the  story  begins. 

Suddhoo's  cousin's  son  told  me,  one  evening, 
that  Suddhoo  wanted  to  see  me ;  that  he  was  too 
old  and  feeble  to  come  personally,  and  that  I 
should  be  conferring  an  everlasting  honor  on 
the  House  of  Suddhoo  if  I  went  to  him.  I 
went ;  but  I  think,  seeing  how  well  off  Suddhoo 
was  then,  that  he  might  have  sent  something 
better  than  an  ekka,  which  jolted  fearfully,  to 
haul  out  a  future  Lieutenant-Governor  to  the 
City  on  a  muggy  April  evening.  The  ekka 
did  not  run  quickly.  It  was  full  dark  when  we 
pulled  up  opposite  the  door  of  Ranjit  Singh's 
Tomb  near  the  main  gate  of  the  Fort.  Here 
was  Suddhoo,  and  he  said  that,  by  reason  of 
my  condescension,  it  was  absolutely  certain  that 
I  should  become  a  Lieutenant-Governor  while 


200  IN  THE  HOUSE 

my  hair  was  yet  black.  Then  we  talked  about 
the  weather  and  the  state  of  my  health,  and  the 
wheat  crops,  for  fifteen  minutes,  in  the  Huzuri 
Bagh,  under  the  stars. 

Suddhoo  came  to  the  point  at  last.  He  said 
that  Janoo  had  told  him  that  there  was  an 
order  of  the  Sirkar  against  magic,  because  it 
was  feared  that  magic  might  one  day  kill  the 
Empress  of  India.  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  the  state  of  the  law;  but  I  fancied  that 
something  interesting  was  going  to  happen.  I 
said  that  so  far  from  magic  being  discouraged 
by  the  Government  it  was  highly  commended. 
The  greatest  officials  of  the  State  practised  it 
themselves.  (If  the  Financial  Statement  isn't 
magic,  I  don't  know  what  is.)  Then,  to  en- 
courage him  further,  I  said  that,  if  there  was 
any  jadoo  afoot,  I  had  not  the  least  objection 
to  giving  it  my  countenance  and  sanction,  and 
to  seeing  that  it  was  clean  jadoo — white  magic, 
as  distinguished  from  the  unclean  jadoo  which 
kills  folk.  It  took  a  long  time  before  Suddhoo 
admitted  that  this  was  just  what  he  had  asked 
me  to  come  for.  Then  he  told  me,  in  jerks 
and  quavers,  that  the  man  who  said  he  cut 
seals  was  a  sorcerer  of  the  cleanest  kind ;  that 
every  day  he  gave  Suddhoo  news  of  the  sick 
son  in  Peshawar  more  quickly  than  the  light- 


OF  SUDDHOO  201 

ning  could  fly,  and  that  this  news  was  always 
corroborated  by  the  letters.  Further,  that  he 
had  told  Suddhoo  how  a  great  danger  was 
threatening  his  son,  which  could  be  removed 
by  clean  jadoo;  and,  of  course,  heavy  payment. 
I  began  to  see  exactly  how  the  land  lay,  and 
told  Suddhoo  that  I  also  understood  a  little 
jadoo  in  the  Western  line,  and  would  go  to  his 
house  to  see  that  everything  was  done  decently 
and  in  order.  We  set  off  together ;  and  on  the 
way  Suddhoo  told  me  that  he  had  paid  the 
seal-cutter  between  one  hundred  and  two  hun- 
dred rupees  already;  and  the  jadoo  of  that 
night  would  cost  two  hundred  more.  Which 
was  cheap,  he  said,  considering  the  greatness  of 
his  son's  danger;  but  I  do  not  think  he  meant 
it. 

The  lights  were  all  cloaked  in  the  front  of 
the  house  when  we  arrived.  I  could  hear  awful 
noises  from  behind  the  seal-cutter's  shop-front, 
as  if  some  one  were  groaning  his  soul  out. 
Suddhoo  shook  all  over,  and  while  we  groped 
our  way  upstairs  told  me  that  the  jadoo  had 
begun.  Janoo  and  Azizun  met  us  at  the  stair- 
head, and  told  us  that  the  jadoo-wovk  was 
coming  off  in  their  rooms,  because  there  was 
more  space  there.  Janoo  is  a  lady  of  a  free- 
thinking  turn  of  mind.    She  whispered  that  the 


202  IN  THE  HOUSE 

jadoo  was  an  invention  to  get  money  out  of 
Stiddhoo,  and  that  the  seal-cutter  would  go  to 
a  hot  place  when  he  died.  Suddhoo  was  nearly 
crying  with  fear  and  old  age.  He  kept  walking 
up  and  down  the  room  in  the  half-light,  repeat- 
ing his  son's  name  over  and  over  again,  and 
asking  Azizun  if  the  seal-cutter  ought  not  to 
make  a  reduction  in  the  case  of  his  own  land- 
lord. Janoo  pulled  me  over  to  the  shadow  in 
the  recess  of  the  carved  bow-windows.  The 
boards  were  up,  and  the  rooms  were  only  lit  by 
one  tiny  oil-lamp.  There  was  no  chance  of  my 
being  seen  if  I  stayed  still. 

Presently,  the  groans  below  ceased,  and  we 
heard  steps  on  the  staircase.  That  was  the 
seal-cutter.  He  stopped  outside  the  door  as 
the  terrier  barked  and  Azizun  fumbled  at  the 
chain,  and  he  told  Suddhoo  to  blow  out  the 
lamp.  This  left  the  place  in  jet  darkness,  ex- 
cept for  the  red  glow  from  the  two  huqas  that 
belonged  to  Janoo  and  Azizun.  The  seal-cutter 
came  in,  and  I  heard  Suddhoo  throw  himself 
down  on  the  floor  and  groan.  Azizun  caught 
her  breath,  and  Janoo  backed  on  to  one  of  the 
beds  with  a  shudder.  There  was  a  clink  of 
something  metallic,  and  then  shot  up  a  pale 
blue-green  flame  near  the  ground.  The  light 
was    just    enough    to    show    Azizun,    pressed 


OF  SUDDHOO  203 

against  one  corner  of  the  room  with  the  terrier 
between  her  knees;  Janoo,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  leaning  forward  as  she  sat  on  the  bed ; 
Suddhoo,  face  down,  quivering,  and  the  seal- 
cutter. 

I  hope  I  may  never  see  another  man  like 
that  seal-cutter.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist, 
with  a  wreath  of  white  jasmine  as  thick  as  my 
wrist  round  his  forehead,  a  salmon  colored 
loin-cloth  round  his  middle,  and  a  steel  bangle 
on  each  ankle.  This  was  not  awe-inspiring. 
It  was  the  face  of  the  man  that  turned  me  cold. 
It  was  blue-grey  in  the  first  place.  In  the  sec- 
ond, the  eyes  were  rolled  back  till  you  could 
only  see  the  whites  of  them ;  and,  in  the  third, 
the  face  was  the  face  of  a  demon — a  ghoul — 
anything  you  please  except  of  the  sleek,  oily  old 
ruffian  who  sat  in  the  daytime  over  his  turning- 
lathe  downstairs.  He  was  lying  on  his  stomach 
with  his  arms  turned  and  crossed  behind  him, 
as  if  he  had  been  thrown  down  pinioned.  His 
head  and  neck  were  the  only  parts  of  him  off 
the  floor.  They  were  nearly  at  right  angles 
to  the  body,  like  the  head  of  a  cobra  at  spring. 
It  was  ghastly.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on 
the  bare  earth  floor,  stood  a  big,  deep,  brass 
basin,  with  a  pale  blue-green  light  floating  in 
the  centre  like  a  night-light.     Round  that  basin 


204  IN  THE  HOUSE 

the  man  on  the  floor  wriggled  himself  three 
times.  How  he  did  it  I  do  not  know.  I  could 
see  the  muscles  ripple  along  his  spine  and  fall 
smooth  again;  but  I  could  not  see  any  other 
motion.  The  head  seemed  the  only  thing  alive 
about  him,  except  that  slow  curl  and  uncurl  of 
the  laboring  back-muscles.  Janoo  from  the 
bed  was  breathing  seventy  to  the  minute; 
Azizun  held  her  hands  before  her  eyes ;  and  old 
Suddhoo,  fingering  at  the  dirt  that  had  got 
into  his  white  beard,  was  crying  to  himself. 
The  horror  of  it  was  that  the  creeping,  crawly 
thing  made  no  sound — only  crawled!  And, 
remember,  this  lasted  for  ten  minutes,  while 
the  terrier  whined,  and  Azizun  shuddered,  and 
Janoo  gasped,  and  Suddhoo  cried. 

I  felt  the  hair  lift  at  the  back  of  my  head, 
and  my  heart  thump  like  a  thermantidote  pad- 
dle. Luckily,  the  seal-cutter  betrayed  himself 
by  his  most  impressive  trick  and  made  me  calm 
again.  After  he  had  finished  that  unspeakable 
triple  crawl,  he  stretched  his  head  away  from 
the  floor  as  high  as  he  could,  and  sent  out  a  jet 
of  fire  from  his  nostrils.  Now  I  know  how 
fire-spouting  is  done — I  can  do  it  myself — so 
I  felt  at  ease.  The  business  was  a  fraud.  If 
he  had  only  kept  to  that  crawl  without  trying 
to   raise  the   effect,   goodness   knows  what   I 


OF  SUDDHOO  205 

might  not  have  thought.  Both  the  girls 
shrieked  at  the  jet  of  fire  and  the  head  dropped, 
chin-down  on  the  floor,  with  a  thud ;  the  whole 
body  lying  then  like  a  corpse  with  its  arms 
trussed.  There  was  a  pause  of  five  full  min- 
utes after  this,  and  the  blue-green  flame  died 
down.  Janoo  stooped  to  settle  one  of  her 
anklets,  while  Azizun  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  and  took  the  terrier  in  her  arms.  Suddhoo 
put  out  an  arm  mechanically  to  Janoo's  huqa, 
and  she  slid  it  across  the  floor  with  her  foot. 
Directly  above  the  body  and  on  the  wall,  were 
a  couple  of  flaming  portraits,  in  stamped-paper 
frames,  of  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
They  looked  down  on  the  performance,  and  to 
my  thinking,  seemed  to  heighten  the  grotesque- 
ness  of  it  all. 

Just  when  the  silence  was  getting  unen- 
durable, the  body  turned  over  and  rolled  away 
from  the  basin  to  the  side  of  the  room,  where 
it  lay  stomach-up.  There  was  a  faint  "plop" 
from  the  basin — exactly  like  the  noise  a  fish 
makes  when  it  takes  a  fly — and  the  green  light 
in  the  centre  revived. 

I  looked  at  the  basin,  and  saw,  bobbing  in 
the  water,  the  dried,  shrivelled,  black  head  of 
a  native  baby — open  eyes,  open  mouth,  and 
shaved  scalp.    It  was  worse,  being  so  very  sud- 


206  IN  THE  HOUSE 

den,  than  the  crawling  exhibition.  We  had  no 
time  to  say  anything  before  it  began  to  speak. 

Read  Poe's  account  of  the  voice  that  came 
from  the  mesmerized  dying  man,  and  you  will 
realize  less  than  one  half  of  the  horror  of  that 
head's  voice. 

There  was  an  interval  of  a  second  or  two  be- 
tween each  word,  and  a  sort  of  "ring,  ring, 
ring,"  in  the  note  of  the  voice,  like  the  timbre 
of  a  bell.  It  pealed  slowly,  as  if  talking  to  it- 
self, for  several  minutes  before  I  got  rid  of 
my  cold  sweat.  Then  the  blessed  solution 
struck  me.  I  looked  at  the  body  lying  near 
the  doorway,  and  saw,  just  where  the  hollow 
of  the  throat  joins  on  the  shoulders,  a  muscle 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  man's  regular 
breathing  twitching  away  steadily.  The  whole 
thing  was  a  careful  reproduction  of  the  Egyp- 
tian teraphin  that  one  reads  about  sometimes; 
and  the  voice  was  as  clever  and  as  appalling  a 
piece  of  ventriloquism  as  one  could  wish  to 
hear.  All  this  time  the  head  was  "lip-lip-lap- 
ping" against  the  side  of  the  basin,  and  speak- 
ing. It  told  Suddhoo,  on  his  face  again 
whining,  of  his  son's  illness  and  of  the  state  of 
the  illness  up  to  the  evening  of  that  very  night. 
I  always  shall  respect  the  seal-cutter  for  keep- 
ing so  faithfully  to  the  time  of  the  Peshawar 


OF  SUDDHOO  207 

telegrams.  It  went  on  to  say  that  skilled  doc- 
tors were  night  and  day  watching  over  the 
man's  life;  and  that  he  would  eventually  re- 
cover if  the  fee  to  the  potent  sorcerer,  whose 
servant  was  the  head  in  the  basin,  were 
doubled. 

Here  the  mistake  from  the  artistic  point  of 
view  came  in.  To  ask  for  twice  your  stipulated 
fee  in  a  voice  that  Lazarus  might  have  used 
when  he  rose  from  the  dead,  is  absurd.  Janoo, 
who  is  really  a  woman  of  masculine  intellect, 
saw  this  as  quickly  as  I  did.  I  heard  her  say 
" Asli  nahiu!  Fareib!"  scornfully  under  her 
breath;  and  just  as  she  said  so,  the  light  in  the 
basin  died  out,  the  head  stopped  talking,  and 
we  heard  the  room  door  creak  on  its  hinges. 
Then  Janoo  struck  a  match,  lit  the  lamp,  and 
we  saw  that  head,  basin,  and  seal-cutter  were 
gone.  Suddhoo  was  wringing  his  hands  and 
explaining  to  any  one  who  cared  to  listen,  that, 
if  his  chances  of  eternal  salvation  depended  on 
it,  he  could  not  raise  another  two  hundred 
rupees.  Azizun  was  nearly  in  hysterics  in  the 
corner;  while  Janoo  sat  down  composedly  on 
one  of  the  beds  to  discuss  the  probabilities  of 
the  whole  thing  being  a  bunao,  or  "make-up." 

I  explained  as  much  as  I  knew  of  the  seal- 
cutter's  way  of  jadoo;  but  her  argument  was 


208  IN  THE  HOUSE 

much  more  simple — "The  magic  that  is  always 
demanding  gifts  is  no  true  magic,"  said  she. 
"My  mother  told  me  that  the  only  potent  love- 
spells  are  those  which  are  told  you  for  love. 
This  seal-cutter  man  is  a  liar  and  a  devil.  I 
dare  not  tell,  do  anything,  or  get  anything 
done,  because  I  am  in  debt  to  Bhagwan  Dass 
the  bunnia  for  two  gold  rings  and  a  heavy 
anklet.  I  must  get  my  food  from  his  shop. 
The  seal-cutter  is  the  friend  of  Bhagwan  Dass, 
and  he  would  poison  my  food.  A  fool's  jadoo 
has  been  going  on  for  ten  days,  and  has  cost 
Suddhoo  many  rupees  each  night.  The  seal- 
cutter  used  black  hens  and  lemons  and  mantras 
before.  He  never  showed  us  anything  like  this 
till  to-night.  Azizun  is  a  fool,  and  will  be  a 
purdahnashin  soon.  Suddhoo  has  lost  his 
strength  and  his  wits.  See  now !  I  had  hoped 
to  get  from  Suddhoo  many  rupees  while  he 
lived,  and  many  more  after  his  death ;  and  be- 
hold, he  is  spending  everything  on  that  off- 
spring of  a  devil  and  a  she-ass,  the  seal-cutter !" 

Here  I  said,  "But  what  induced  Suddhoo  to 
drag  me  into  this  business?  Of  course  I  can 
speak  to  the  seal-cutter,  and  he  shall  refund. 
The  whole  thing  is  child's  talk — shame — and 
senseless." 

"Suddhoo  is  an  old  child,"  said  Janoo.    "He 


OF  SUDDHOO  209 

has  lived  on  the  roofs  these  seventy  years  and 
is  as  senseless  as  a  milch-goat.  He  brought 
you  here  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not 
breaking  any  law  of  the  Sirkar,  whose  salt  he 
ate  many  years  ago.  He  worships  the  dust  off 
the  feet  of  the  seal-cutter,  and  that  cow-de- 
vourer  has  forbidden  him  to  go  and  sse  his 
son.  What  does  Suddhoo  know  of  your  laws 
of  lightning-post?  I  have  to  watch  his  money 
going  day  by  day  to  that  lying  beast  below. 

Janoo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor  and 
nearly  cried  with  vexation ;  while  Suddhoo  was 
whimpering  under  a  blanket  in  the  corner,  and 
Azizun  was  trying  to  guide  the  pipe-stem  to 
his  foolish  old  mouth. 

Now,  the  case  stands  thus.  Unthinkingly,  I 
have  laid  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  aiding 
and  abetting  the  seal-cutter  in  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretences,  which  is  forbidden  by 
Section  420  of  the  Indian  Penal  Code.  I  am 
helpless  in  the  matter  for  these  reasons.  I  can- 
not inform  the  Police.  What  witnesses  would 
support  my  statements?  Janoo  refuses  flatly, 
and  Azizun  is  a  veiled  woman  somewhere  near 
Bareilly — lost  in  this  big  India  of  ours.  I  dare 
not  again  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands,  and 


210  IN  THE  HOUSE 

speak  to  the  seal-cutter;  for  certain  am  I  that, 
not  only  would  Suddhoo  disbelieve  me,  but  this 
step  would  end  in  the  poisoning  of  Janoo,  who 
is  bound  hand  and  foot  by  her  debt  to  the 
bimnia.  Suddhoo  is  an  old  dotard ;  and  when- 
ever we  meet  mumbles  my  idiotic  joke  that  the 
Sikar  rather  patronizes  the  Black  Art  than 
otherwise.  His  son  is  well  now ;  but  Suddhoo 
is  completely  under  the  influence  of  the  seal- 
cutter,  by  whose  advice  he  regulates  the  affairs 
of  his  life.  Janoo  watches  daily  the  money 
that  she  hoped  to  wheedle  out  of  Suddhoo 
taken  by  the  seal-cutter,  and  becomes  daily 
more  furious  and  sullen. 

She  will  never  tell,  because  she  dare  not; 
but,  unless  something  happens  to  prevent  her,  I 
am  afraid  that  the  seal-cutter  will  die  of 
cholera — the  white  arsenic  kind — about  the 
middle  of  May.  And  thus  I  shall  be  privy  to 
a  murder  in  the  House  of  Suddhoo. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

Cry  "Murder !"  in  the  market-place,  and  each 

Will  turn  upon  his  neighbor  anxious  eyes 

That  ask — "Art  thou  the  man?"     We  hunted  Cain, 

Some  centuries  ago,  across  the  world. 

That  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 

To-day. 

— Vibart's  Moralities. 

SHAKESPEARE  says  something  about 
worms,  or  it  may  be  giants  or  beetles,  turn- 
ing if  you  tread  on  them  too  severely.  The 
safest  plan  is  never  to  tread  on  a  worm — not 
even  on  the  last  new  subaltern  from  Home, 
with  his  buttons  hardly  out  of  their  tissue- 
paper,  and  the  red  of  sappy  English  beef  in 
his  cheeks.  This  is  a  story  of  the  worm  that 
turned.  For  the  sake  of  brevity,  we  will  call 
Henry  Augustus  Ramsay  Faizanne,  "The 
Worm,"  though  he  really  was  an  exceedingly 
pretty  boy,  without  a  hair  on  his  face,  and  with 
a  waist  like  a  girl's,  when  he  came  out  to  the 
Second  "Shikarris"  and  was  made  unhappy  in 
several  ways.  The  "Shikarris"  are  a  high- 
caste  regiment,  and  you  must  be  able  to  do 
213 


214  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

things  well — play  a  banjo,  or  ride  more  than 
little,  or  sing,  or  act, — to  get  on  with  them. 

The  Worm  did  nothing  except  fall  off  his 
pony,  and  knock  chips  out  of  gate-posts  with 
hie  trap.  Even  that  became  monotonous  after 
a  time.  He  objected  to  whist,  cut  the  cloth  at 
billiards,  sang  out  of  tune,  kept  very  much  to 
himself,  and  wrote  to  his  Mamma  and  sisters 
at  Home.  Four  of  these  five  things  were  vices 
which  the  "Shikarris"  objected  to  and  set 
themselves  to  eradicate.  Every  one  knows  how 
subalterns  are,  by  brother  subalterns,  softened 
and  not  permitted  to  be  ferocious.  It  is  good 
and  wholesome,  and  does  no  one  any  harm,  un- 
less tempers  are  lost ;  and  then  there  is  trouble. 
There  was  a  man  once — 

The  "Shikarris"  shikarred  The  Worm  very 
much,  and  he  bore  everything  without  winking. 
He  was  so  good  and  so  anxious  to  learn,  and 
flushed  so  pink,  that  his  education  was  cut 
short,  and  he  was  left  to  his  own  devices  by 
every  one  except  the  Senior  Subaltern,  who 
continued  to  make  life  a  burden  to  The  Worm. 
The  Senior  Subaltern  meant  no  harm;  but  his 
chaff  was  coarse  and  he  didn't  quite  understand 
where  to  stop.  He  had  been  waiting  too  long 
for  his  Company ;  and  that  always  sours  a  man. 
Also  he  was  in  love,  which  made  him  worse. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  215 

One  day,  after  he  had  borrowed  The  Worm's 
trap  for  a  lady  who  never  existed,  had  used  it 
himself  all  the  afternoon,  had  sent  a  note,  to 
The  Worm,  purporting  to  come  from  the  lady, 
and  was  telling  the  Mess  all  about  it,  The 
Worm  rose  in  his  place  and  said,  in  his  quiet, 
lady-like  voice — "That  was  a  very  pretty  sell ; 
but  I'll  lay  you  a  month's  pay  to  a  month's  pay 
when  you  get  your  step,  that  I  work  a  sell  on 
you  that  you'll  remember  for  the  rest  of  your 
days,  and  the  Regiment  after  you  when  you're 
dead  or  broke."  The  Worm  wasn't  angry  in 
the  least,  and  the  rest  of  the  Mess  shouted. 
Then  the  Senior  Subaltern  looked  at  The 
Worm  from  the  boots  upward,  and  down  again, 
and  said — "Done,  Baby."  The  Worm  held  the 
rest  of  the  Mess  to  witness  that  the  bet  had 
been  taken,  and  retired  into  a  book  with  a 
sweet  smile. 

Two  months  passed,  and  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern still  educated  The  Worm,  who  began  to 
move  about  a  little  more  as  the  hot  weather 
came  on.  I  have  said  that  the  Senior  Subaltern 
was  in  love.  The  curious  thing  is  that  a  girl 
was  in  love  with  the  Senior  Subaltern.  Though 
the  Colonel  said  awful  things,  and  the  Majors 
snorted,  and  the  married  Captains  looked  un- 
utterable wisdom,  and  the  juniors  scoffed, 
those  two  were  engaged. 


216  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

The  Senior  Subaltern  was  so  pleased  with 
getting  his  Company  and  his  acceptance  at  the 
same  time  that  he  forgot  to  bother  The  Worm. 
The  girl  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  had  money  of 
her  own.  She  does  not  come  into  this  story  at 
all. 

One  night,  at  the  beginning  of  the  hot 
weather,  all  the  Mess,  except  The  Worm  who 
had  gone  to  his  own  room  to  write  Home  let- 
ters, were  sitting  on  the  platform  outside  the 
Mess  House.  The  Band  had  finished  playing, 
but  no  one  wanted  to  go  in.  And  the  Captains' 
wives  were  there  also.  The  folly  of  a  man  in 
love  is  unlimited.  The  Senior  Subaltern  had 
been  holding  forth  on  the  merits  of  the  girl  he 
was  engaged  to,  and  the  ladies  were  purring 
approval  while  the  men  yawned,  when  there 
was  a  rustle  of  skirts  in  the  dark,  and  a  tired, 
faint  voice  lifted  itself. 

"Where's  my  husband  ?" 

I  do  not  wish  in  the  least  to  reflect  on  the 
morality  of  the  "Shikarris";  but  it  is  on  record 
that  four  men  jumped  up  as  if  they  had  been 
shot.  Three  of  them  were  married  men.  Per- 
haps they  were  afraid  that  their  wives  had 
come  from  Home  unbeknownst.  The  fourth 
said  that  he  had  acted  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment.    He  explained  this  afterward. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  217 

Then  the  voice  cried,  "O  Lionel!"  Lionel 
was  the  Senior  Subaltern's  name.  A  woman 
came  into  the  little  circle  of  light  by  the  candles 
on  the  peg-tables,  stretching  out  her  hands  to 
the  dark  where  the  Senior  Subaltern  was,  and 
sobbing.  We  rose  to  our  feet,  feeling  that 
things  were  going  to  happen  and  ready  to  be- 
lieve the  worst.  In  this  bad,  small  world  of 
ours,  one  knows  so  little  of  the  life  of  the  next 
man — which,  after  all,  is  entirely  his  own  con- 
cern— that  one  is  not  surprised  when  a  crash 
comes.  Anything  might  turn  up  any  day  for 
any  one.  Perhaps  the  Senior  Subaltern  had 
been  trapped  in  his  youth.  Men  are  crippled 
that  way,  occasionally.  We  didn't  know;  we 
wanted  to  hear;  and  the  Captains'  wives  were 
as  anxious  as  we.  If  he  had  been  trapped,  he 
was  to  be  excused;  for  the  woman  from  no- 
where, in  the  dusty  shoes  and  grey  traveling- 
dress,  was  very  lovely,  with  black  hair  and 
great  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  was  tall,  with  a 
fine  figure,  and  her  voice  had  a  running  sob  in 
it  pitiful  to  hear.  As  soon  as  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern stood  up,  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  called  him  "my  darling,"  and  said 
she  could  not  bear  waiting  alone  in  England, 
and  his  letters  were  so  short  and  cold,  and  she 
was  his  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  would  he 


*i8  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

forgive  her?  This  did  not  sound  quite  like  a 
lady's  way  of  speaking.  It  was  too  demon- 
strative. 

Things  seemed  black  indeed,  and  the  Cap- 
tains' wives  peered  under  their  eyebrows  at  the 
Senior  Subaltern,  and  the  Colonel's  face  set 
like  the  Day  of  Judgment  framed  in  grey 
bristles,  and  no  one  spoke  for  a  while. 

Next  the  Colonel  said  very  shortly,  "Well, 
Sir?"  and  the  woman  sobbed  afresh.  The 
Senior  Subaltern  was  half  choked  with  the 
arms  around  his  neck,  but  he  gasped  out — "It's 
a  damned  lie !  I  never  had  a  wife  in  my  life !" 
— "Don't  swear,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Come 
into  the  Mess.  We  must  sift  this  clear  some- 
how," and  he  sighed  to  himself,  for  he  believed 
in  his  "Shikarris,"  did  the  Colonel. 

We  trooped  into  the  ante-room,  under  the 
full  lights,  and  there  we  saw  how  beautiful  the 
woman  was.  She  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  us 
all,  sometimes  choking  with  crying,  then  hard 
and  proud,  and  then  holding  out  her  arms  to 
the  Senior  Subaltern.  It  was  like  the  fourth  act 
of  a  tragedy.  She  told  us  how  the  Senior  Sub- 
altern had  married  her  when  he  was  Home  on 
leave  eighteen  months  before;  and  she  seemed 
to  know  all  that  we  knew,  and  more  too,  of  his 
people  and  his  past  life.     He  was  white  and 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  219 

ash-grey,  trying  now  and  again  to  break  into 
the  torrent  of  her  words ;  and  we,  noting  how 
lovely  she  was  and  what  a  criminal  he  looked, 
esteemed  him  a  beast  of  the  worst  kind.  We 
felt  sorry  for  him,  though. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  indictment  of  the 
Senior  Subaltern  by  his  wife.  Nor  will  he. 
It  was  so  sudden,  rushing  out  of  the  dark,  un- 
announced, into  our  dull  lives.  The  Captains' 
wives  stood  back;  but  their  eyes  were  alight, 
and  you  could  see  that  they  had  already  con- 
victed and  sentenced  the  Senior  Subaltern. 
The  Colonel  seemed  five  years  older.  One 
Major  was  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
watching  the  woman  from  underneath  it.  An- 
other was  chewing  his  moustache  and  smiling 
quietly  as  if  he  were  witnessing  a  play.  Full 
in  the  open  space  in  the  centre,  by  the  whist- 
tables,  the  Senior  Subaltern's  terrier  was  hunt- 
ing for  fleas.  I  remember  all  this  as  clearly  as 
though  a  photograph  were  in  my  hand.  I  re- 
member the  look  of  horror  on  the  Senior 
Subaltern's  face.  It  was  rather  like  seeing  a 
man  hanged;  but  much  more  interesting. 
Finally,  the  woman  wound  up  by  saying  that 
the  Senior  Subaltern  carried  a  double  F.  M.  in 
tattoo  on  his  left  shoulder.  We  all  knew  that, 
and  to  our  innocent  minds  it  seemed  to  clinch 


220  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

the  matter.  But  one  of  the  bachelor  Majors 
said  very  politely,  "I  presume  that  your  mar- 
riage-certificate would  be  more  to  the  pur- 
pose?" 

That  roused  the  woman.  She  stood  up  and 
sneered  at  the  Senior  Subaltern  for  a  cur,  and 
abused  the  Major  and  the  Colonel  and  all  the 
rest.  Then  she  wept,  and  then  she  pulled  a 
paper  from  her  breast,  saying  imperially, 
"Take  that!  And  let  my  husband — my  law- 
fully wedded  husband — read  it  aloud — if  he 
dare!" 

There  was  a  hush,  and  the  men  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  came 
forward  in  a  dazed  and  dizzy  way,  and  took 
the  paper.  We  were  wondering,  as  we  stared, 
whether  there  was  anything  against  any  one 
of  us  that  might  turn  up  later  on.  The  Senior 
Subaltern's  throat  was  dry;  but,  as  he  ran  his 
eye  over  the  paper,  he  broke  out  into  a  hoarse 
cackle  of  relief,  and  said  to  the  woman,  "You 
young  blackguard !"  But  the  woman  had  fled 
through  a  door,  and  on  the  paper  was  written, 
"This  is  to  certify  that  I,  The  Worm,  have 
paid  in  full  my  debts  to  the  Senior  Subaltern, 
and,  further,  that  the  Senior  Subaltern  is  my 
debtor,  by  agreement  on  the  23d  of  February, 
as  by  the  Mess  attested,  to  the  extent  of  one 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  221 

month's  Captain's  pay,  in  the  lawful  currency 
of  the  Indian  Empire." 

Then  a  deputation  set  off  for  The  Worm's 
quarters  and  found  him,  betwixt  and  between, 
unlacing  his  stays,  with  the  hat,  wig,  and  serge 
dress,  on  the  bed.  He  came  over  as  he  was, 
and  the  "Shikarris"  shouted  till  the  Gunners' 
Mess  sent  over  to  know  if  they  might  have  a 
share  of  the  fun.  I  think  we  were  all,  except 
the  Colonel  and  the  Senior  Subaltern,  a  little 
disappointed  that  the  scandal  had  come  to 
nothing.  But  that  is  human  nature.  There  could 
be  no  two  words  about  The  Worm's  acting.  It 
leaned  as  near  to  a  nasty  tragedy  as  anything 
this  side  of  a  joke  can.  When  most  of  the 
Subalterns  sat  upon  him  with  sofa-cushions  to 
find  out  why  he  had  not  said  that  acting  was 
his  strong  point,  he  answered  very  quietly,  "I 
don't  think  you  ever  asked  me.  I  used  to  act 
at  Home  with  my  sisters."  But  no  acting  with 
girls  could  account  for  The  Worm's  display 
that  night.  Personally,  I  think  it  was  in  bad 
taste.  Besides  being  dangerous.  There  is  no 
sort  of  use  in  playing  with  fire,  even  for  fun. 

The  "Shikarris"  made  him  President  of  the 
Regimental  Dramatic  Club;  and,  when  the 
Senior  Subaltern  paid  up  his  debt,  which  he 
did  at  once,  The  Worm  sank  the  money  in 


222  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE 

scenery  and  dresses.  He  was  a  good  Worm; 
and  the  "Shikarris"  are  proud  of  him.  The 
only  drawback  is  that  he  has  been  christened 
"Mrs.  Senior  Subaltern" ;  and,  as  there  are 
now  two  Mrs.  Senior  Subalterns  in  the  Sta- 
tion, this  is  sometimes  confusing  to  strangers. 
Later  on,  I  will  tell  you  of  a  case  something 
like  this,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out  and  noth- 
ing in  it  but  real  trouble. 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP 

While  the  snaffle  holds,  or  the  long-neck  stings, 
While  the  big  beam  tilts,  or  the  last  bell  rings, 
While  horses  are  horses  to  train  and  to  race, 
Then  women  and  wine  take  a  second  place 

For  me — for  me — 

While  a  short  "ten-three" 
Has  a  field  to  squander  or  fence  to  face ! 

— Song  of  the  G.  R. 

THERE  are  more  ways  of  running  a  horse 
to  suit  your  book  than  pulling  his  head  off 
in  the  straight.  Some  men  forget  this.  Un- 
derstand clearly  that  all  racing  is  rotten — as 
everything  connected  with  losing  money  must 
be.  In  India,  in  addition  to  its  inherent  rotten- 
ness, it  has  the  merit  of  being  two-thirds  sham ; 
looking  pretty  on  paper  only.  Every  one 
knows  every  one  else  far  too  well  for  business 
purposes.  How  on  earth  can  you  rack  and 
harry  and  post  a  man  for  his  losings,  when 
you  are  fond  of  his  wife,  and  live  in  the  same 
Station  with  him  ?  He  says,  "On  the  Monday 
following,"  "I  can't  settle  just  yet."  You  say, 
"All  right,  old  man,"  and  think  yourself  lucky 
225 


226  THE  BROKEN-LINK 

if  you  pull  off  nine  hundred  out  of  a  two-thou- 
sand-rupee debt.  Any  way  you  look  at  it,  In- 
dian racing  is  immoral,  and  expensively  im- 
moral. Which  is  much  worse.  If  a  man  wants 
your  money,  he  ought  to  ask  for  it,  or  send 
round  a  subscription-list,  instead  of  juggling 
about  the  country,  with  an  Australian  larrikin ; 
a  "brumby,"  with  as  much  breed  as  the  boy; 
a  brace  of  chumars  in  gold-laced  caps;  three 
or  four  ekka-pomes  with  hogged  manes,  and 
a  switch-tailed  demirep  of  a  mare  called  Arab 
because  she  has  a  kink  in  her  flag.  Racing 
leads  to  the  shroff  quicker  than  anything  else. 
But  if  you  have  no  conscience  and  no  senti- 
ments, and  good  hands,  and  some  knowledge 
of  pace,  and  ten  years'  experience  of  horses, 
and  several  thousand  rupees  a  month,  I  believe 
that  you  can  occasionally  contrive  to  pay  your 
shoeing-bills. 

Did  you  ever  know  Shackles — b.  w.  g.,  15. 
1  3-8 — coarse,  loose,  mule-like  ears — barrel  as 
long  as  a  gatepost — tough  as  a  telegraph-wire 
— and  the  queerest  brute  that  ever  looked 
through  a  bridle?  He  was  of  no  brand,  being 
one  of  an  ear-nicked  mob  taken  into  the 
Bucephalus  at  £4:ios.,  a  head  to  make  up 
freight,  and  sold  raw  and  out  of  condition  at 
Calcutta  for  Rs.275.     People  who  lost  money 


HANDICAP  227 

on  him  called  him  a  "brumby" ;  but  if  ever  any- 
horse  had  Harpoon's  shoulders  and  The  Gin's 
temper,  Shackles  was  that  horse.  Two  miles 
was  his  own  particular  distance.  He  trained 
himself,  ran  himself,  and  rode  himself;  and, 
if  his  jockey  insulted  him  by  giving  him  hints, 
he  shut  up  at  once  and  bucked  the  boy  off.  He 
objected  to  dictation.  Two  or  three  of  his 
owners  did  not  understand  this,  and  lost  money 
in  consequence.  At  last  he  was  bought  by  a 
man  who  discovered  that,  if  a  race  was  to  be 
won,  Shackles,  and  Shackles  only,  would  win 
it  in  his  own  way,  so  long  as  his  jockey  sat 
still.  This  man  had  a  riding-boy  called  Brunt 
— a  lad  from  Perth,  West  Australia — and  he 
taught  Brunt,  with  a  trainer's  whip,  the  hard- 
est thing  a  jock  can  learn — to  sit  still,  to  sit 
still,  and  to  keep  on  sitting  still.  When  Brunt 
fairly  grasped  this  truth,  Shackles  devastated 
the  country.  No  weight  could  stop  him  at  his 
own  distance;  and  the  fame  of  Shackles  spread 
from  Ajmir  in  the  South,  to  Chedputter  in  the 
North.  There  was  no  horse  like  Shixkles,  so 
long  as  he  was  allowed  to  do  his  work  in  his 
own  way.  But  he  was  beaten  in  the  end ;  and 
the  story  of  his  fall  is  enough  to  make  angels 
weep. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Chedputter  race- 


228  THE  BROKEN-LINK 

course,  just  before  the  turn  into  the  straight, 
the  track  passes  close  to  a  couple  of  old  brick- 
mouncls  enclosing  a  funnel-shaped  hollow. 
The  big  end  of  the  funnel  is  not  six  feet  from 
the  railings  on  the  off-side.  The  astounding 
peculiarity  of  the  course  is  that,  if  you  stand 
at  one  particular  place,  about  half  a  mile  away, 
inside  the  course,  and  speak  at  ordinary  pitch, 
your  voice  just  hits  the  funnel  of  the  brick- 
mounds  and  makes  a  curious  whining  echo 
there.  A  man  discovered  this  one  morning  by 
accident  while  out  training  with  a  friend.  He 
marked  the  place  to  stand  and  speak  from  with 
a  couple  of  bricks,  and  he  kept  his  knowledge 
to  himself.  Every  peculiarity  of  a  course  is 
worth  remembering  in  a  country  where  rats 
play  the  mischief  with  the  elephant-litter,  and 
Stewards  build  jumps  to  suit  their  own  stables. 
This  man  ran  a  very  fairish  country-bred,  a 
long,  racking  high  mare  with  the  temper  of  a 
fiend,  and  the  paces  of  an  airy  wandering 
seraph — a  drifty,  glidy  stretch.  The  mare 
was,  as  a  delicate  tribute  to  Mrs.  Reiver,  called 
"The  Lady  Regular  Baddun" — or  for  short, 
Regula  Baddun. 

Shackles'  jockey,  Brunt,  was  a  quite  well-be- 
haved boy,  but  his  nerve  had  been  shaken.  He 
began  his  career  by  riding  jump-races  in  Mel- 


HANDICAP  229 

bourne,  where  a  few  Stewards  want  lynching, 
and  was  one  of  the  jockeys  who  came  through 
the  awful  butchery — perhaps  you  will  recollect 
it — of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate.  The  walls  were 
colonial  ramparts — logs  of  jarrah  spiked  into 
masonry — with  wings  as  strong  as  Church  but- 
tresses. Once  in  his  stride,  a  horse  had  to  jump 
or  fall.  He  couldn't  run  out.  In  the  Maribyr- 
nong Plate,  twelve  horses  were  jammed  at  the 
second  wall.  Red  Hat,  leading,  fell  this  side, 
and  threw  out  The  Gled,  and  the  ruck  came  up 
behind  and  the  space  betwen  wing  and  wing 
was  one  struggling,  screaming,  kicking  sham- 
bles. Four  jockeys  were  taken  out  dead ;  three 
were  very  badly  hurt,  and  Brunt  was  among 
the  three.  He  told  the  story  of  the  Maribyr- 
nong Plate  sometimes ;  and  when  he  described 
how  Whalley  on  Red  Hat,  said,  as  the  mare 
fell  under  him — "God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done 
for!"  and  how,  next  instant,  Sithee  There  and 
White  Otter  had  crushed  the  life  out  of  poor 
Whalley,  and  the  dust  hid  a  small  hell  of  men 
and  horses,  no  one  marveled  that  Brunt  had 
dropped  jump-races  and  Australia  together. 
Regula  Baddun's  owner  knew  that  story  by 
heart.  Brunt  never  varied  it  in  the  telling. 
He  had  no  education. 

Shackles   came  to  the  Chedputter   Autumn 


230  THE  BROKEN-LINK 

races  one  year,  and  his  owner  walked  about  in- 
sulting the  sportsmen  of  Chedputter  generally, 
till  they  went  to  the  Honorary  Secretary  in  a 
body  and  said,  "Appoint  handicappers,  and  ar- 
range a  race  which  shall  break  Shackles  and 
humble  the  pride  of  his  owner."  The  Districts 
rose  against  Shackles  and  sent  up  of  their  best ; 
Ousel,  who  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  his 
mile  in  1-53 ;  Petard,  the  stud-bred,  trained  by 
a  cavalry  regiment  who  knew  how  to  train; 
Gringalet,  the  ewe-lamb  of  the  75th ;  Bobolink, 
the  pride  of  Peshawar;  and  many  others. 

They  called  that  race  The  Broken-Link 
Handicap,  because  it  was  to  smash  Shackles; 
and  the  Handicappers  piled  on  the  weights,  and 
the  Fund  gave  eight  hundred  rupees,  and  the 
distance  was  "round  the  course  for  all  horses." 
Shackles'  owner  said,  "You  can  arrange  the 
race  with  regard  to  Shackles  only.  So  long  as 
you  don't  bury  him  under  weight-cloths,  I  don't 
mind."  Regula  Baddun's  owner  said,  "I  throw 
in  my  mare  to  fret  Ousel.  Six  furlongs  is 
Regula's  distance,  and  she  will  then  lie  down 
and  die.  So  also  will  Ousel,  for  his  jockey 
doesn't  understand  a  waiting  race."  Now,  this 
was  a  lie,  for  Regula  had  been  in  work  for  two 
months  at  Dehra,  and  her  chances  were  good, 
always  supposing  that  Shackles  broke  a  blood- 
vessel— or  Brunt  moved  on  him. 


HANDICAP  231 

The  plunging  in  the  lotteries  was  fine.  They 
filled  eight  thousand-rupee  lotteries  on  the 
Broken-Link  Handicap,  and  the  account  in  the 
Pioneer  said  that  "favoritism  was  divided." 
In  plain  English,  the  various  contingents  were 
wild  on  their  respective  horses ;  for  the  Handi- 
cappers  had  done  their  work  well.  The  Hon- 
orary Secretary  shouted  himself  hoarse 
through  the  din;  and  the  smoke  of  the 
cheroots  was  like  the  smoke,  and  the  rattling 
of  the  dice-boxes  like  the  rattle  of  small-arm 
fire. 

Ten  horses  started — very  level — and  Reg- 
ula  Baddun's  owner  cantered  out  on  his  hack 
to  a  place  inside  the  circle  of  the  course,  where 
two  bricks  had  been  thrown.  He  faced 
toward  the  brick-mounds  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  course  and  waited. 

The  story  of  the  running  is  in  the  Pioneer. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  mile,  Shackles  crept  out 
of  the  ruck,  well  on  the  outside,  ready  to  get 
round  the  turn,  lay  hold  of  the  bit  and  spin  up 
the  straight  before  the  others  knew  he  had  got 
away.  Brunt  was  sitting  still,  perfectly  hap- 
py, listening  to  the  "drum-drum-drum"  of  the 
hoofs  behind,  and  knowing  that,  in  about 
twenty  strides,  Shackles  would  draw  one  deep 
breath  and  go  up  the  last  half-mile  like  the 


232  THE  BROKEN-LINK 

"Flying  Dutchman."  As  Shackles  went  short 
to  take  the  turn  and  came  abreast  of  the  brick- 
mound,  Brunt  heard,  above  the  noise  of  the 
wind  in  his  ears,  a  whining,  wailing  voice  on 
the  offside,  saying — "God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done 
for!"  In  one  stride,  Brunt  saw  the  whole 
seething  smash  of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate  be- 
fore him,  started  in  his  saddle  and  gave  a  yell 
of  terror.  The  start  brought  the  heels  into 
Shackles'  side,  and  the  scream  hurt  Shackles' 
feelings.  He  couldn't  stop  dead;  but  he  put 
out  his  feet  and  slid  along  for  fifty  yards,  and 
then,  very  gravely  and  judiciously,  bucked  off 
Brunt — a  shaking,  terror-stricken  lump,  while 
Regula  Baddun  made  a  neck-and-neck  race 
with  Bobolink  up  the  straight  and  won  by  a 
short  head — Petard  a  bad  third.  Shackles' 
owner,  in  the  Stand,  tried  to  think  that  his 
field-glasses  had  gone  wrong.  Regula  Bad- 
dun's  owner,  waiting  by  the  two  bricks,  gave 
one  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  cantered  back  to 
the  Stand.  He  had  won,  in  lotteries  and  bets, 
about  fifteen  thousand. 

It  was  a  Broken-Link  Handicap  with  a 
vengeance.  It  broke  nearly  all  the  men  con- 
cerned, and  nearly  broke  the  heart  of  Shackles' 
owner.  He  went  down  to  interview  Brunt. 
The  boy  lay,   livid  and  gasping  with   fright, 


HANDICAP  233 

where  he  had  tumbled  off.  The  sin  of  losing 
the  race  never  seemed  to  strike  him.  All  he 
knew  was  that  Whalley  had  "called"  him,  that 
the  "call"  was  a  warning;  and,  were  he  cut  in 
two  for  it,  he  would  never  get  up  again.  His 
nerve  had  gone  altogether,  and  he  only  asked 
his  master  to  give  him  a  good  thrashing,  and 
let  him  go.  He  was  fit  for  nothing,  he  said. 
He  got  his  dismissal,  and  crept  up  to  the  pad- 
dock, white  as  chalk,  with  blue  lips,  his  knees 
giving  way  under  him.  People  said  nasty 
things  in  the  paddock ;  but  Brunt  never  heeded. 
He  changed  into  tweeds,  took  his  stick  and 
went  down  the  road,  still  shaking  with  fright, 
and  muttering  over  and  over  again — "God 
ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for!"  To  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief  he  spoke  the  truth. 

So  now  you  know  how  the  Broken-Link 
Handicap  was  run  and  won.  Of  course  you 
don't  believe  it.  You  would  credit  anything 
about  Russia's  designs  on  India,  or  the  recom- 
mendations of  the  Currency  Commission;  but 
a  little  bit  of  sober  fact  is  more  than  you  can 
stand. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE 


BEYOND  THE  PALE 

Love  heeds  not  caste  nor  sleep  a  broken  bed.    I  went 
in  search  of  love  and  lost  myself. — Hindu  Proverb. 

A  MAN  should,  whatever  happens,  keep  to 
his  own  caste,  race  and  breed.  Let  the 
White  go  to  the  White  and  the  Black  to  the 
Black.  Then,  whatever  trouble  falls  is  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  things — neither  sudden, 
alien  nor  unexpected. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  wilfully 
stepped  beyond  the  safe  limits  of  decent  every- 
day society,  and  paid  for  it  heavily. 

He  knew  too  much  in  the  first  instance ;  and 
he  saw  too  much  in  the  second.  He  took  too 
deep  an  interest  in  native  life ;  but  he  will  never 
do  so  again. 

Deep  away  in  the  heart  of  the  City,  behind 
Jitha  Megji's  bustee,  lies  Amir  Nath's  Gully, 
which  ends  in  a  dead-wall  pierced  by  one 
grated  window.  At  the  head  of  the  Gully  is  a 
big  cowbyre,  and  the  walls  on  either  side  of 
the  Gully  are  without  windows.  Neither 
Suchet    Singh    nor    Gaur    Chand    approve   of 

237 


238  BEYOND  THE  PALE 

their  womenfolk  looking  into  the  world.  If 
Durga  Charan  had  been  of  their  opinion,  he 
would  have  been  a  happier  man  to-day,  and 
little  Bisesa  would  have  been  able  to  knead  her 
own  bread.  Her  room  looked  out  through  the 
grated  window  into  the  narrow  dark  Gully- 
where  the  sun  never  came  and  where  the  buf- 
faloes wallowed  in  the  blue  slime.  She  was  a 
widow,  about  fifteen  years  old,  and  she  prayed 
the  Gods,  day  and  night,  to  send  her  a  lover; 
for  she  did  not  approve  of  living  alone. 

One  day,  the  man — Trejago  his  name  was 
— came  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  on  an  aimless 
wandering;  and,  after  he  had  passed  the  buffa- 
loes, stumbled  over  a  big  heap  of  cattle-food. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Gully  ended  in  a  trap, 
and  heard  a  little  laugh  from  behind  the 
grated  window.  It  was  a  pretty  little  laugh 
and  Trejago,  knowing  that,  for  all  practical 
purposes,  the  old  Arabian  Nights  are  good 
guides,  went  forward  to  the  window,  and 
whispered  that  verse  of  "The  Love  Song  of 
Har  Dyal"  which  begins : 

Can  a  man  stand  upright  in  the  face  of  the  naked 
Sun;  or  a  Lover  in  the  Presence  of  his  Beloved? 

If  my  feet  fail  me,  O  Heart  of  my  Heart,  am  I  to 
blame,  being  blinded  by  the  glimpse  of  your  beauty? 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  239 

There  came  the  faint  t chink  of  a  woman's 
bracelets  from  behind  the  grating,  and  a  little 
voice  went  on  with  the  song  at  the  fifth  verse : 

Alas !  alas !  Can  the  Moon  tell  the  Lotus  of  her  love 
when  the  Gate  of  Heaven  is  shut  and  the  clouds  gather 
for  the  rains? 

They  have  taken  my  Beloved,  and  driven  her  with 
the  packhorses  to  the  North. 

There  are  iron  chains  on  the  feet  that  were  set  on  my 
heart. 

Call  to  the  bowmen  to  make  ready — 

The  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  Trejago 
walked  out  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  wondering 
who  in  the  world  could  have  capped  "The 
Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal"  so  neatly. 

Next  morning  as  he  was  driving  to  office, 
an  old  woman  threw  a  packet  into  his  dog- 
cart. In  the  packet  was  the  half  of  a  broken 
glass-bangle,  one  flower  of  the  blood-red  dhak, 
a  pinch  of  bhusa  or  cattle-food,  and  eleven 
cardamoms.  That  packet  was  a  letter — not  a 
clumpsy  compromising  letter,  but  an  innocent 
unintelligible  lover's  epistle. 

Trejago  knew  far  too  much  about  these 
things,  as  I  have  said.  No  Englishman  should 
be  able  to  translate  object-letters.  But  Tre- 
jago spread  all  the  trifles  on  the  lid  of  his  of- 
fice-box and  began  to  puzzle  them  out. 


240  BEYOND  THE  PALE 

A  broken  glass-bangle  stands  for  a  Hindu 
widow  all  India  over;  because,  when  her  hus- 
band dies,  a  woman's  bracelets  are  broken  on 
her  wrists.  Trejago  saw  the  meaning  of  the 
little  bit  of  the  glass.  The  flower  of  the  dhak 
means  diversely  "desire,"  "come,"  write,"  or 
"danger,"  according  to  the  other  things  with 
it.  One  cardamom  means  "jealousy" ;  but 
when  any  article  is  duplicated  in  an  object- 
letter,  it  loses  its  symbolic  meaning  and  stands 
merely  for  one  of  a  number  indicating  time, 
or,  if  incense,  curds,  or  saffron  be  sent  also, 
place.  The  message  ran  then — "A  widow — 
dhak  flower  and  bhusa, — at  eleven  o'clock." 
The  pinch  of  bhusa  enlightened  Trejago.  He 
saw — this  kind  of  letter  leaves  much  to  instinc- 
tive knowledge — that  the  bhusa  referred  to  the 
big  heap  of  cattle-food  over  which  he  had 
fallen  in  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and  that  the  mes- 
sage must  come  from  the  person  behind  the 
grating;  she  being  a  widow.  So  the  message 
ran  then — "A  widow,  in  the  Gully  in  which  is 
the  heap  of  bhusa,  desires  you  to  come  at 
eleven  o'clock." 

Trejago  threw  all  the  rubbish  into  the  fire- 
place and  laughed.  He  knew  that  men  in  the 
East  do  not  make  love  under  windows  at 
eleven  in  the  forenoon,  nor  do  women  fix  ap- 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  241 

pointments  a  week  in  advance.  So  he  went, 
that  very  night  at  eleven,  into  Amir  Nath's 
Gully,  clad  in  a  boorka,  which  cloaks  a  man  as 
well  as  a  woman.  Directly  the  gongs  of  the 
City  made  the  hour,  the  little  voice  behind  the 
grating  took  up  "The  Love  Song  of  Har 
Dyal"  at  the  verse  where  the  Panthan  girl  calls 
upon  Har  Dyal  to  return.  The  song  is  really 
pretty  in  the  vernacular.  In  English  you  miss 
the  wail  of  it.     It  runs  something  like  this — 

Alone  upon  the  housetops,  to  the  North 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky, — 

The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die! 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid 
Far,  far,  below  the  weary  camels  lie, — 

The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die! 

My  fathers'  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years, 
And  drudge  of  all  my  father's  house  am  I. — 

My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die! 

As  the  song  stopped,  Trejago  stepped  up 
under  the  grating  and  whispered — "I  am 
here." 

Bisesa  was  good  to  look  upon. 

That  night  was  the  beginning  of  many 
strange  things,  and  of  a  double  life  so  wild 
that  Trejago  to-day  sometimes  wonders  if  it 


242  BEYOND  THE  PALE 

were  not  all  a  dream.  Bisesa,  or  her  old  hand- 
maiden who  had  thrown  the  object-letter,  had 
detached  the  heavy  grating  from  the  brick- 
work of  the  wall ;  so  that  the  window  slid  in- 
side, leaving  only  a  square  of  raw  masonry 
into  which  an  active  man  might  climb. 

In  the  daytime,  Trejago  drove  through  his 
routine  of  office-work,  or  put  on  his  calling- 
clothes  and  called  on  the  ladies  of  the  Station ; 
wondering  how  long  they  would  know  him  if 
they  knew  of  poor  little  Bisesa.  At  night, 
when  all  the  City  was  still,  came  the  walk 
under  the  evil-smelling  boorka,  the  patrol 
through  Jitha  Megji's  bustee,  the  quick  turn 
into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  between  the  sleeping 
cattle  and  the  dead  walls,  and  then,  last  of  all, 
Bisesa,  and  the  deep,  even  breathing  of  the  old 
woman  who  slept  outside  the  door  of  the  bare 
little  room  that  Durga  Charan  allotted  to  his 
sister's  daughter.  Who  or  what  Durga 
Charan  was,  Trejago  never  inquired ;  and  why 
in  the  world  he  was  not  discovered  and  knifed 
never  occurred  to  him  till  his  madness  was 
over,  and  Bisesa  .  .  .  But  this  comes 
later. 

Bisesa  was  an  endless  delight  to  Trejago. 
She  was  as  ignorant  as  a  bird ;  and  her  dis- 
torted versions  of  the  rumors  from  the  out- 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  243 

side  world  that  had  reached  her  in  her  room, 
amused  Trejago  almost  as  much  as  her  lisp- 
ing attempts  to  pronounce  his  name — "Chris- 
topher." The  first  syllable  was  always  more 
than  she  could  manage,  and  she  made  funny 
little  gestures  with  her  roseleaf  hands,  as  one 
throwing  the  name  away,  and  then,  kneeling 
before  Trejago,  asked  him,  exactly  as  an  Eng- 
lishwoman would  do,  if  he  were  sure  he  loved 
her.  Trejago  swore  that  he  loved  her  more 
than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Which  was 
true. 

After  a  month  of  this  folly,  the  exigencies 
of  his  other  life  compelled  Trejago  to  be  es- 
pecially attentive  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance. 
You  may  take  it  for  a  fact  that  anything  of 
this  kind  is  not  only  noticed  and  discussed  by 
a  man's  own  race  but  by  some  hundred  and 
fifty  natives  as  well.  Trejago  had  to  walk 
with  this  lady  and  talk  to  her  at  the  Band- 
stand, and  once  or  twice  to  drive  with  her; 
never  for  an  instant  dreaming  that  this  would 
affect  his  dearer,  out-of-the-way  life.  But  the 
news  flew,  in  the  usual  mysterious  fashion, 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  Bisesa's  duenna 
heard  of  it  and  told  Bisesa.  The  child  was  so 
troubled  that  she  did  the  household  work 
evilly,  and  was  beaten  by  Durga  Charan's 
wife  in  consequence. 


244  BEYOND  THE  PALE 

A  week  later,  Bisesa  taxed  Trejago  with 
the  flirtation.  She  understood  no  gradations 
and  spoke  openly.  Trejago  laughed  and  Bi- 
sesa stamped  her  little  feet — little  feet,  light  as 
marigold  flowers,  that  could  lie  in  the  palm  of 
a  man's  one  hand. 

Much  that  is  written  about  Oriental  passion 
and  impulsiveness  is  exaggerated  and  com- 
piled at  second-hand,  but  a  little  of  it  is  true; 
and  when  an  Englishman  finds  that  little,  it  is 
quite  as  startling  as  any  passion  in  his  own 
proper  life.  Bisesa  raged  and  stormed,  and 
finally  threatened  to  kill  herself  if  Trejago  did 
not  at  once  drop  the  alien  Mcmsahib  who  had 
come  between  them.  Trejago  tried  to  explain, 
and  to  show  her  that  she  did  not  understand 
these  things  from  a  Western  standpoint.  Bi- 
sesa drew  herself  up,  and  said  simply — 

"I  do  not.  I  know  only  this — it  is  not  good 
that  I  should  have  made  you  dearer  than  my 
own  heart  to  me,  Sahib.  You  are  an  English- 
man. I  am  only  a  black  girl" — she  was  fairer 
than  bargold  in  the  Mint, — "and  the  widow  of 
a  black  man." 

Then  she  sobbed  and  said — "But  on  my 
soul  and  my  Mother's  soul,  I  love  you.  There 
shall  no  harm  come  to  you,  whatever  happens 
to  me." 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  245 

Trejago  argued  with  the  child,  and  tried  to 
soothe  her,  but  she  seemed  quite  unreasonably 
disturbed.  Nothing  would  satisfy  her  save 
that  all  relations  between  them  should  end. 
He  was  to  go  away  at  once.  And  he  went. 
As  he  dropped  out  of  the  window,  she  kissed 
his  forehead  twice,  and  he  walked  home  won- 
dering. 

A  week,  and  then  three  weeks,  passed  with- 
out a  sign  from  Bisesa.  Trejago,  thinking 
that  the  rupture  had  lasted  quite  long  enough, 
went  down  to  Amir  Nath's  Gully  for  the  fifth 
time  in  the  three  weeks,  hoping  that  his  rap 
at  the  sill  of  the  shifting  grating  would  be  an- 
swered.    He  was  not  disappointed. 

There  was  a  young  moon,  and  one  stream 
of  light  fell  down  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully, 
and  struck  the  grating  which  was  drawn 
away  as  he  knocked.  From  the  black  dark, 
Bisesa  held  out  her  arms  into  the  moonlight. 
Both  hands  had  been  cut  off  at  the  wrists,  and 
the  stumps  were  nearly  healed. 

Then,  as  Bisesa  bowed  her  head  between  her 
arms  and  sobbed,  some  one  in  the  room 
grunted  like  a  wild  beast,  and  something  sharp 
— knife,  sw^rd,  or  spear, — thrust  at  Trejago 
in  his  boorka.  The  stroke  missed  his  body,  cut 
into  one  of  the  muscles  of  the  groin,  and  he 


246  BEYOND  THE  PALE 

limped  slightly  from  the  wound  for  the  rest  of 
his  days. 

The  grating  went  into  its  place.  There  was 
no  sign  whatever  from  inside  the  house, — 
nothing  but  the  moonlight  strip  on  the  high 
wall,  and  the  blackness  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully 
behind. 

The  next  thing  Trejago  remembers,  after 
raging  and  shouting  like  a  madman  between 
those  pitiless  walls,  is  that  he  found  himself 
near  the  river  as  the  dawn  was  breaking, 
threw  away  his  boorka  and  went  home  bare- 
headed. 


What  was  the  tragedy — whether  Bisesa 
had,  in  a  fit  of  causeless  despair,  told  every- 
thing, or  the  intrigue  had  been  discovered  and 
she  tortured  to  tell ;  whether  Durga  Charan 
knew  his  name  and  what  became  of  Bisesa — 
Trejago  does  not  know  to  this  day.  Some- 
thing horrible  had  happened,  and  the  thought 
of  what  it  must  have  been,  comes  upon  Tre- 
jago in  the  night  now  and  again,  and  keeps 
him  company  till  the  morning.  One  special 
feature  of  the  case  is  that  he  does  not  know 
where  lies  the  front  of  Durga  Charan's  house. 
It  may  open  on  to  a  courtyard  common  to  two 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  247 

or  more  houses,  or  it  may  lie  behind  any  one 
of  the  gates  of  Jitha  Megji's  bustee.  Trejago 
cannot  tell.  He  cannot  get  Bisesa — poor  little 
Bisesa — back  again.  He  has  lost  her  in  the 
City  where  each  man's  house  is  as  guarded  and 
as  unknowable  as  the  grave;  and  the  grating 
that  opens  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  has  been 
walled  up. 

But  Trejago  pays  his  calls  regularly,  and 
is  reckoned  a  very  decent  sort  of  man. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  him,  except 
a  slight  stiffness,  caused  by  a  riding-strain,  in 
the  right  leg. 


IN  ERROR 


IN  ERROR 

They  burned  a  corpse  upon  the  sand — 

The  light  shone  out  afar ; 
It  guided  home  the  plunging  boats 

That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 
Spirit  of  Fire,  where'er  Thy  altars  rise, 
Thou  art  Light  of  Guidance  to  our  eyes ! 

— Salsette  Boat-Song. 

THERE  is  hope  for  a  man  who  gets  pub- 
licly and  riotously  drunk  more  often  than 
he  ought  to  do;  but  there  is  no  hope  for  the 
man  who  drinks  secretly  and  alone  in  his  own 
house — the  man  who  is  never  seen  to  drink. 

This  is  a  rule;  sb  there  must  be  an  excep- 
tion to  prove  it.  Moriarty's  case  was  that  ex- 
ception. 

He  was  a  Civil  Engineer,  and  the  Govern- 
ment, very  kindly,  put  him  quite  by  himself  in 
an  out-district,  with  nobody  but  natives  to  talk 
to  and  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do.  He  did  his 
work  well  in  the  four  years  he  was  utterly 
alone ;  but  he  picked  up  the  vice  of  secret  and 
solitary  drinking,  and  came  up  out  of  the  wil- 
derness more  old  and  worn  and  haggard  than 
251 


252  IN  ERROR 

the  dead-alive  life  had  any  right  to  make  him. 
You  know  the  saying  that  a  man  who  has  been 
alone  in  the  jungle  for  more  than  a  year  is 
never  quite  sane  all  his  life  after.  People  cred- 
ited Moriarty's  queerness  of  manner  and 
moody  ways  to  the  solitude,  and  said  that  it 
showed  how  Government  spoiled  the  futures 
of  its  best  men.  Moriarty  had  built  himself 
the  plinth  of  a  very  good  reputation  in  the 
bridge-dam-girder  line.  But  he  knew,  every 
night  of  the  week,  that  he  was  taking  steps  to 
undermine  that  reputation  with  L.  L.  L.  and 
Christopher  and  little  nips  of  liquors,  and  filth 
of  that  kind.  He  had  a  sound  constitution  and 
a  great  brain,  or  else  he  would  have  broken 
down  and  died  like  a  sick  camel  in  the  district. 
As  better  men  have  done  before  him. 

Government  ordered  him  to  Simla  after  he 
had  come  out  of  the  desert;  and  he  went  up 
meaning  to  try  for  a  post  then  vacant.  That 
season,  Mrs.  Reiver — perhaps  you  will  remem- 
ber her — was  in  the  height  of  her  power,  and 
many  men  lay  under  her  yoke.  Everything 
bad  that  could  be  said  has  already  been  said 
about  Mrs.  Reiver,  in  another  tale.  Moriarty 
was  heavily-built  and  handsome,  very  quiet 
and  nervously  anxious  to  please  his  neighbors 
when  he  wasn't  sunk  in  a  brown  study.     He 


IN  ERROR  253 

started  a  good  deal  at  sudden  noises  or  if 
spoken  to  without  warning;  and,  when  you 
watched  him  drinking  his  glass  of  water  at 
dinner,  you  could  see  the  hand  shake  a  little. 
But  all  this  was  put  down  to  nervousness,  and 
the  quiet,  steady,  sip-sip-sip,  fill  and  sip-sip- 
sip  again  that  went  on  in  his  own  room  when 
he  was  by  himself,  was  never  known.  Which 
was  miraculous,  seeing  how  everything  in  a 
man's  private  life  is  public  property  in  India. 

Moriarty  was  drawn,  not  into  Mrs.  Reiver's 
set,  because  they  were  not  his  sort,  but  into  the 
power  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  and  he  fell  down  in 
front  of  her  and  made  a  goddess  of  her.  This 
was  due  to  his  coming  fresh  out  of  the  jungle 
to  a  big  town.  He  could  not  scale  things  prop- 
erly or  see  who  was  what. 

Because  Mrs.  Reiver  was  cold  and  hard,  he 
said  she  was  stately  and  dignified.  Because 
she  had  no  brains,  and  could  not  talk  cleverly, 
he  said  she  was  reserved  and  shy.  Mrs. 
Reiver  shy!  Because  she  was  unworthy  of 
honor  or  reverence  from  any  one,  he  rever- 
enced her  from  a  distance  and  dowered  her 
with  all  the  virtues  in  the  Bible  and  most  of 
those  in  Shakespeare. 

This  big,  dark,  abstracted  man  who  was  so 
nervous  when   a  pony  cantered  behind  him, 


254  IN  ERROR 

used  to  moon  in  the  train  of  Mrs.  Reiver, 
blushing  with  pleasure  when  she  threw  a  word 
or  two  his  way.  His  admiration  was  strictly 
platonic;  even  other  women  saw  and  admitted 
this.  He  did  not  move  out  in  Simla,  so  he 
heard  nothing  against  his  idol :  which  was  sat- 
isfactory. Mrs.  Reiver  took  no  special  notice 
of  him,  beyond  seeing  that  he  was  added  to 
her  list  of  admirers,  and  going  for  a  walk  with 
him  now  and  then,  just  to  show  that  he  was 
her  property,  claimable  as  such.  Moriarty 
must  have  done  most  of  the  talking,  for  Mrs. 
Reiver  couldn't  talk  much  to  a  man  of  his 
stamp;  and  the  little  she  said  could  not  have 
been  profitable.  What  Moriarty  believed  in, 
as  he  had  good  reason  to,  was  Mrs.  Reiver's 
influence  over  him,  and,  in  that  belief,  set  him- 
self seriously  to  try  to  do  away  with  the  vice 
that  only  he  himself  knew  of. 

His  experiences  while  he  was  fighting  with 
it  must  have  been  peculiar,  but  he  never  de- 
scribed them.  Sometimes  he  would  hold  off 
from  everything  except  water  for  a  week. 
Then,  on  a  rainy  night,  when  no  one  had  asked 
him  out  to  dinner,  and  there  was  a  big  fire  in 
his  room,  and  everything  comfortable,  he 
would  sit  down  and  make  a  big  night  of  it  by 
adding  little  nip  to  little  nip,  planning  big 
schemes  of  reformation  meanwhile,   until  he 


IN  ERROR  255 

threw   himself  on  his  bed   hopelessly   drunk. 
He  suffered  next  morning. 

One  night  the  big  crash  came.  He  was 
troubled  in  his  own  mind  over  his  attempts 
to  make  himself  "worthy  of  the  friendship"  of 
Mrs.  Reiver.  The  past  ten  days  had  been  very 
bad  ones,  and  the  end  of  it  all  was  that  he  re- 
ceived the  arrears  of  two  and  three  quarter 
years  of  sipping  in  one  attack  of  delirium 
tremens  of  the  subdued  kind;  beginning  with 
suicidal  depression,  going  on  to  fits  and  starts 
and  hysteria,  and  ending  with  downright  rav- 
ing. As  he  sat  in  a  chair  in  front  of  the  fire, 
or  walked  up  and  down  the  room  picking  a 
handkerchief  to  pieces,  you  heard  what  poor 
Moriarty  really  thought  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  for 
he  raved  about  her  and  his  own  fall  for  the 
most  part ;  though  he  raveled  some  P.  W.  D. 
accounts  into  the  same  skein  of  thought.  He 
talked  and  talked,  and  talked  in  a  low  dry 
whisper  to  himself,  and  there  was  no  stopping 
him.  He  seemed  to  know  that  there  was 
something  wrong,  and  twice  tried  to  pull  him- 
self together  and  confer  rationally  with  the 
Doctor;  but  his  mind  ran  out  of  control  at 
once,  and  he  fell  back  to  a  whisper  and  the 
story  of  his  troubles.  It  is  terrible  to  hear  a 
big  man  babbling  like  a  child  of  all  that  a  man 
usually  locks  up,  and  puts  away  in  the  deep  of 


256  IN  ERROR 

his  heart.  Moriarty  read  out  his  very  soul  for 
the  benefit  of  any  one  who  was  in  the  room 
between  ten-thirty  that  night  and  two-forty- 
five  next  morning. 

From  what  he  said,  one  gathered  how  im- 
mense an  influence  Mrs.  Reiver  held  over  him, 
and  how  thoroughly  he  felt  for  his  own  lapse. 
His  whisperings  cannot,  of  course,  be  put 
down  here ;  but  they  were  very  instructive — as 
showing  the  errors  of  his  estimates. 

$  $  $  ;|c  $  $ 

When  the  trouble  was  over,  and  his  few  ac-: 
quaintances  were  pitying  him  for  the  bad  at- 
tack of  jungle- fever  that  had  so  pulled  him 
down,  Moriarty  swore  a  big  oath  to  himself 
and  went  abroad  again  with  Mrs.  Reiver  till 
the  end  of  the  season,  adoring  her  in  a  quiet 
and  deferential  way  as  an  angel  from  heaven. 
Later  on,  he  took  to  riding — not  hacking,  but 
honest  riding — which  was  good  proof  that  he 
was  improving,  and  you  could  slam  doors  be- 
hind him  without  his  jumping  to  his  feet  with 
a  gasp.    That,  again,  was  hopeful. 

How  he  kept  his  oath,  and  what  it  cost  him 
in  the  beginning  nobody  knows.  He  certainly 
managed  to  compass  the  hardest  thing  that  a 
man  who  has  drunk  heavily  can  do.  He  took 
his  peg  and  wine  at  dinner ;  but  he  never  drank 


IN  ERROR  257 

alone,  and  never  let  what  he  drank  have  the 
least  hold  on  him. 

Once  he  told  a  bosom-friend  the  story  of  his 
great  trouble,  and  how  the  "influence  of  a 
pure  honest  woman,  and  an  angel  as  well"  had 
saved  him.  When  the  man — startled  at  any- 
thing good  being  laid  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  door — 
laughed,  it  cost  him  Moriarty's  friendship. 
Moriarty,  who  is  married  now  to  a  woman  ten 
thousand  times  better  than  Mrs.  Reiver — a 
woman  who  believes  that  there  is  no  man  on 
earth  as  good  and  clever  as  her  husband — will 
go  down  to  his  grave  vowing  and  protesting 
that  Mrs.  Reiver  saved  him  from  ruin  in  both 
wrorlds. 

That  she  knew  anything  of  Moriarty's 
weakness  nobody  believed  for  a  moment. 
That  she  would  have  cut  him  dead,  thrown 
him  over,  and  acquainted  all  her  friends  with 
her  discovery,  if  she  had  known  of  it,  nobody 
who  knew  her  doubted  for  an  instant. 

Moriarty  thought  her  something  she  never 
was,  and  in  that  belief  saved  himself.  Which 
was  just  as  good  as  though  she  had  been 
everything  that  he  had  imagined. 

But  the  question  is,  What  claim  will  Mrs. 
Reiver  have  to  the  credit  of  Moriarty's  salva- 
tion, when  her  day  of  reckoning  comes? 


A  BANK  FRAUD 


A  BANK  FRAUD 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse ; 

He  purchased  raiment  and  forebore  to  pay; 
He  stuck  a  trusting  junior  with  a  horse, 

And  won  Gymkhanas  in  a  doubtful  way. 
Then,  'twixt  a  vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 
To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them,  lied. 

— The  Mess  Room. 

IF  Reggie  Burke  were  in  India  now,  he 
would  resent  this  tale  being  told ;  but  as  he 
is  in  Hongkong  and  won't  see  it,  the  telling  is 
safe.  He  was  the  man  who  worked  the  big 
fraud  on  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank.  He  was 
manager  of  an  up-country  Branch,  and  a 
sound  practical  man  with  a  large  experience  of 
native  loan  and  insurance  work.  He  could 
combine  the  frivolities  of  ordinary  life  with 
his  work,  and  yet  do  well.  Reggie  Burke  rode 
anything  that  would  let  him  get  up,  danced  as 
neatly  as  he  rode,  and  was  wanted  for  every 
sort  of  amusement  in  the  Station. 

As  he  said  himself,  and  as  many  men  found 
out  rather  to  their  surprise,  there  were  two 
Burkes,    both    very    much    at    your    service. 
261 


262  A  BANK  FRAUD 

"Reggie  Burke,"  between  four  and  ten,  ready 
for  anything  from  a  hot-weather  gymkhana  to 
a  riding-picnic,  and,  between  ten  and  four, 
"Mr.  Reginald  Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind 
and  Sialkote  Branch  Bank."  You  might  play 
polo  with  him  one  afternoon  and  hear  him  ex- 
press his  opinions  when  a  man  crossed;  and 
you  might  call  on  him  next  morning  to  raise 
a  two-thousand  rupee  loan  on  a  five  hundred 
pound  insurance  policy,  eighty  pounds  paid  in 
premiums.  He  would  recognize  you,  but  you 
would  have  some  trouble  in  recognizing  him. 

The  Directors  of  the  Bank — it  had  its  head- 
quarters in  Calcutta  and  its  General  Manager's 
word  carried  weight  with  the  Government — 
picked  their  men  well.  They  had  tested  Reg- 
gie up  to  a  fairly  severe  breaking-strain. 
They  trusted  him  just  as  much  as  Directors 
ever  trust  Managers.  You  must  see  for  your- 
self whether  their  trust  was  misplaced. 

Reggie's  Branch  was  in  a  big  Station,  and 
worked  with  the  usual  staff — one  Manager, 
one  Accountant,  both  English,  a  Cashier,  and 
a  horde  of  native  clerks ;  besides  the  Police  pa- 
trol at  nights  outside.  The  bulk  of  its  work, 
for  it  was  in  a  thriving  district,  was  hoondi 
and  accommodation  of  all  kinds.  A  fool  has 
no  grip  of  this  sort  of  business;  and  a  clever 


A  BANK  FRAUD  263 

man  who  does  not  go  about  among  his  clients, 
and  know  more  than  a  little  of  their  affairs,  is 
worse  than  a  fool.  Reggie  was  young-look- 
ing, clean-shaved,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
and  a  head  that  nothing  short  of  a  gallon  of 
the  Gunners'  Madeira  could  make  any  impres- 
sion on. 

One  day,  at  a  big  dinner,  he  announced  cas- 
ually that  the  Directors  had  shifted  on  to  him 
a  Natural  Curiosity,  from  England,  in  the  Ac- 
countant line.  He  was  perfectly  correct.  Mr. 
Silas  Riley,  Accountant,  was  a  most  curious 
animal — a  long,  gawky,  rawboned  Yorkshire- 
man,  full  of  the  savage  self-conceit  that  blos- 
soms only  in  the  best  county  in  England.  Ar- 
rogance was  a  mild  word  for  the  mental  atti- 
tude of  Mr.  S.  Riley.  He  had  worked  himself 
up,  after  seven  years,  to  a  Cashier's  position  in 
a  Huddersfield  Bank;  and  all  his  experience 
lay  among  the  factories  of  the  North.  Per- 
haps he  would  have  done  better  on  the  Bom- 
bay side,  where  they  are  happy  with  one-half 
per  cent,  profits,  and  money  is  cheap.  He  was 
useless  for  Upper  India  and  a  wheat  Province, 
where  a  man  wants  a  large  head  and  a  touch 
of  imagination  if  he  is  to  turn  out  a  satisfac- 
tory balance-sheet. 

He    was    wonderfully    narrow-minded    in 


264  A  BANK  FRAUD 

business,  and,  being-  new  to  the  country,  had  no 
notion  that  Indian  banking  is  totally  distinct 
from  Home  work.  Like  most  clever  self- 
made  men,  he  had  much  simplicity  in  his  na- 
ture; and,  somehow  or  other,  had  construed 
the  ordinarily  polite  terms  of  his  letter  of  en- 
gagement into  a  belief  that  the  Directors  had 
chosen  him  on  account  of  his  special  and  bril- 
liant talents,  and  that  they  set  great  store  by 
him.  This  notion  grew  and  crystallized ;  thus 
adding  to  his  natural  North-country  conceit. 
Further,  he  was  delicate,  suffered  from  some 
trouble  in  his  chest,  and  was  short  in  his  tem- 
per. 

You  will  admit  that  Reggie  had  reason  to 
call  his  new  Accountant  a  Natural  Curiosity. 
The  two  men  failed  to  hit  it  off  at  all.  Riley 
considered  Reggie  a  wild,  feather-headed 
idiot,  given  to  Heaven  only  knew  what  dissi- 
pation in  low  places  called  "Messes,"  and  to- 
tally unfit  for  the  serious  and  solemn  vocation 
of  banking.  He  could  never  get  over  Reggie's 
look  of  youth  and  "you-be-damned"  air;  and 
he  couldn't  understand  Reggie's  friends — 
clean-built,  careless  men  in  the  Army — who 
rode  over  to  big  Sunday  breakfasts  at  the 
Bank,  and  told  sultry  stories  till  Riley  got  up 
and  left  the  room.    Riley  was  always  showing 


A  BANK  FRAUD  265 

Reggie  how  the  business  ought  to  be  con- 
ducted, and  Reggie  had  more  than  once  to  re- 
mind him  that  seven  years'  limited  experience 
between  Huddersfield  and  Beverley  did  not 
qualify  a  man  to  steer  a  big  up-country  busi- 
ness. Then  Riley  sulked,  and  referred  to  him- 
self as  a  pillar  of  the  Bank  and  a  cherished 
friend  of  the  Directors,  and  Reggie  tore  his 
hair.  If  a  man's  English  subordinates  fail 
him  in  India,  he  comes  to  a  hard  time  indeed, 
for  native  help  has  strict  limitations.  In  the 
winter  Riley  went  sick  for  weeks  at  a  time 
with  his  lung  complaint,  and  this  threw  more 
work  on  Reggie.  But  he  preferred  it  to  the 
everlasting  friction  when  Riley  was  well. 

One  of  the  Traveling  Inspectors  of  the 
Bank  discovered  these  collapses  and  reported 
them  to  the  Directors.  Now  Riley  had  been 
foisted  on  the  Bank  by  an  M.  P.,  who  wanted 
the  support  of  Riley's  father  who,  again,  was 
anxious  to  get  his  son  out  to  a  warmer  climate 
because  of  those  lungs.  The  M.P.  had  an  in- 
terest in  the  Bank;  but  one  of  the  Directors 
wanted  to  advance  a  nominee  of  his  own ;  and, 
after  Riley's  father  had  died,  he  made  the  rest 
of  the  Board  see  that  an  Accountant  who  was 
sick  for  half  the  year,  had  better  give  place  to 
a  healthv  man.     If  Rilev  had  known  the  real 


266  A  BANK  FRAUD 

story  of  his  appointment,  he  might  have  be- 
haved better;  but,  knowing  nothing,  his 
stretches  of  sickness  alternated  with  restless, 
persistent,  meddling  irritation  of  Reggie,  and 
all  the  hundred  ways  in  which  conceit  in  a  sub- 
ordinate situation  can  find  play.  Reggie  used 
to  call  him  striking  and  hair-curling  names  be- 
hind his  back  as  a  relief  to  his  own  feelings ; 
but  he  never  abused  him  to  his  face,  because 
he  said,  "Riley  is  such  a  frail  beast  that  half 
of  his  loathsome  conceit  is  due  to  pains  in  the 
chest." 

Late  one  April,  Riley  went  very  sick  in- 
deed. The  Doctor  punched  him  and  thumped 
him,  and  told  him  he  would  be  better  before 
long.  Then  the  Doctor  went  to  Reggie  and 
said — "Do  you  know  how  sick  your  Account- 
ant is?" — "No!"  said  Reggie — "The  worse 
the  better,  confound  him!  He's  a  clacking 
nuisance  when  he's  well.  I'll  let  you  take 
away  the  Bank  Safe  if  you  can  drug  him  silent 
for  this  hot  weather." 

But  the  Doctor  did  not  laugh — "Man,  I'm 
not  joking,"  he  said.  "I'll  give  him  another 
three  months  in  his  bed  and  a  week  or  so  more 
to  die  in.  On  my  honor  and  reputation  that's 
all  the  grace  he  has  in  this  world.  Consump- 
tion has  hold  of  him  to  the  marrow." 


A  BANK  FRAUD  267 

Reggie's  face  changed  at  once  into  the  face 
of  "Mr.  Reginald  Burke,"  and  he  answered, 
"What  can  I  do?" — "Nothing,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "For  all  practical  purposes  the  man  is 
dead  already.  Keep  him  quiet  and  cheerful, 
and  tell  him  he's  going  to  recover.  That's  all. 
I'll  look  after  him  to  the  end,  of  course." 

The  Doctor  went  away,  and  Reggie  sat 
down  to  open  the  evening  mail.  His  first  letter 
was  one  from  the  Directors,  intimating  for 
his  information  that  Mr.  Riley  was  to  resign, 
under  a  month's  notice,  by  the  terms  of  his 
agreement,  telling  Reggie  that  their  letter  to 
Riley  would  follow,  and  advising  Reggie  of 
the  coming  of  a  new  Accountant,  a  man  whom 
Reggie  knew  and  liked. 

Reggie  lit  a  cheroot,  and,  before  he  had  fin- 
ished smoking,  he  had  sketched  the  outline  of 
a  fraud.  He  put  away — burked — the  Direc- 
tors' letter,  and  went  in  to  talk  to  Riley,  who 
was  as  ungracious  as  usual,  and  fretting  him- 
self over  the  way  the  Bank  would  run  during 
his  illness.  He  never  thought  of  the  extra 
work  on  Reggie's  shoulders,  but  solely  of  the 
damage  to  his  own  prospects  of  advancement. 
Then  Reggie  assured  him  that  everything 
would  be  well,  and  that  he,  Reggie,  would  con- 
fer with  Riley  daily  on  the  management  of  the 


268  A  BANK  FRAUD 

Bank.  Riley  was  a  little  soothed,  but  he 
hinted  in  as  many  words  that  he  did  not  think 
much  of  Reggie's  business  capacity.  Reggie 
was  humble.  And  he  had  letters  in  his  desk 
from  the  Directors  that  a  Gilbarte  or  a  Hardie 
might  have  been  proud  of! 

The  days  passed  in  the  big  darkened  house, 
and  the  Directors'  letter  of  dismissal  to  Riley 
came  and  was  put  away  by  Reggie,  who,  every 
evening,  brought  the  books  to  Riley's  room, 
and  showed  him  what  had  been  going  for- 
ward, while  Riley  snarled.  Reggie  did  his 
best  to  make  statements  pleasing  to  Riley,  but 
the  Accountant  was  sure  that  the  Bank  was 
going  to  rack  and  ruin  without  him.  In  June, 
as  the  lying  in  bed  told  on  his  spirit,  he  asked 
whether  his  absence  had  been  noted  by  the  Di- 
rectors, and  Reggie  said  that  they  had  written 
most  sympathetic  letters,  hoping  that  he  would 
be  able  to  resume  his  valuable  service  before 
long.  He  showed  Riley  the  letters;  and  Riley 
said  that  the  Directors  ought  to  have  written 
to  him  direct.  A  few  days  later,  Reggie 
opened  Riley's  mail  in  the  half-light  of  the 
room,  and  gave  him  the  sheet — not  the  en- 
velope— of  a  letter  to  Riley  from  the  Direc- 
tors. Riley  said  he  would  thank  Reggie  not 
to  interfere  with  his  private  papers,  specially 


A  BANK  FRAUD  269 

as  Reggie  knew  he  was  too  weak  to  open  his 
own  letters.     Reggie  apologized. 

Then  Riley's  mood  changed,  and  he  lec- 
tured Reggie  on  his  evil  ways :  his  horses  and 
his  bad  friends.  "Of  course  lying  here,  on 
my  back,  Mr.  Burke,  I  can't  keep  you  straight ; 
but  when  I'm  well  I  do  hope  you'll  pay  some 
heed  to  my  words."  Reggie,  who  had  dropped 
polo,  and  dinners,  and  tennis  and  all,  to  attend 
to  Riley,  said  that  he  was  penitent  and  settled 
Riley's  head  on  the  pillow  and  heard  him  fret 
and  contradict  in  hard,  dry,  hacking  whispers, 
without  a  sign  of  impatience.  This,  at  the 
end  of  a  heavy  day's  office  work,  doing  double 
duty,  in  the  latter  half  of  June. 

When  the  new  Accountant  came,  Reggie 
told  him  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  announced 
to  Riley  that  he  had  a  guest  staying  with  him. 
Riley  said  that  he  might  have  had  more  con- 
sideration than  to  entertain  his  "doubtful 
friends"  at  such  a  time.  Reggie  made  Carron, 
the  new  Accountant,  sleep  at  the  Club  in  con- 
sequence. Carron's  arrival  took  some  of  the 
heavy  work  off  his  shoulders,  and  he  had  time 
to  attend  to  Riley's  exactions — to  explain, 
soothe,  invent,  and  settle  and  resettle  the  poor 
wretch  in  bed,  and  to  forge  complimentary  let- 
ters from  Calcutta.     At  the  end  of  the  first 


270  A  BANK  FRAUD 

month  Riley  wished  to  send  some  money  home 
to  his  mother.  Reggie  sent  the  draft.  At  the 
end  of  the  second  month  Riley's  salary  came  in 
just  the  same.  Reggie  paid  it  out  of  his  own 
pocket,  and  with  it,  wrote  Riley  a  beautiful 
letter  from  the  Directors. 

Riley  was  very  ill  indeed,  but  the  flame  of 
his  life  burned  unsteadily.  Now  and  then  he 
would  be  cheerful  and  confident  about  the 
future,  sketching  plans  for  going  Home  and 
seeing  his  Mother.  Reggie  listened  patiently 
when  the  office-work  was  over,  and  en- 
couraged him. 

At  other  times  Riley  insisted  on  Reggie 
reading  the  Bible  and  grim  "Methody"  tracts 
to  him.  Out  of  these  tracts  he  pointed  morals 
directed  at  his  Manager.  But  he  always  found 
time  to  worry  Reggie  about  the  working  of 
the  Bank,  and  to  show  him  where  the  weak 
points  lay. 

This  indoor,  sickroom  life  and  constant 
strains  wore  Reggie  down  a  good  deal,  and 
shook  his  nerves,  and  lowered  his  billiard  play 
by  forty  points.  But  the  business  of  the  Bank, 
and  the  business  of  the  sick  room  had  to  go  on, 
though  the  glass  was  n6°  in  the  shade. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month  Riley  was 
sinking  fast,  and  had  begun  to  realize  that  he 


A  BANK  FRAUD  271 

was  very  sick.  But  the  conceit  that  made  him 
worry  Reggie  kept  him  from  believing  the 
worst.  "He  wants  some  sort  of  mental  stimu- 
lant if  he  is  to  drag  on,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"Keep  him  interested  in  life  if  you  care  about 
his  living."  So  Riley,  contrary  to  all  the  laws 
of  business  and  the  finance,  received  a  25-per- 
cent, rise  of  salary  from  the  Directors.  The 
"mental  stimulant"  succeeded  beautifully. 
Riley  was  happy  and  cheerful,  and,  as  is  often 
the  case  in  consumption,  healthiest  in  mind 
when  the  body  was  weakest.  He  lingered  for 
a  full  month,  snarling  and  fretting  about  the 
Bank,  talking  of  the  future,  hearing  the  Bible 
read,  lecturing  Reggie  on  sin,  and  wondering 
when  he  would  be  able  to  move  abroad. 

But  at  the  end  of  September,  one  mercilessly 
hot  evening,  he  rose  up  in  his  bed  with  a  little 
gasp,  and  said  quickly  to  Reggie — "Mr.  Burke, 
I  am  going  to  die.  I  know  it  in  myself.  My 
chest  is  all  hollow  inside,  and  there's  nothing 
to  breathe  with.  To  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge I  have  done  nowt," — he  was  returning 
to  the  talk  of  his  boyhood — "to  lie  heavy  on 
my  conscience.  God  be  thanked,  I  have  been 
preserved  from  the  grosser  forms  of  sin;  and 
I  counsel  you,  Mr.  Burke     .     .     ." 

Here  his  voice  died  down,  and  Reggie 
stooped  over  him. 


2-J2  A  BANK  FRAUD 

"Send  my  salary  for  September  to  my 
Mother  .  .  .  done  great  things  with  the 
Bank  if  I  had  been  spared  .  .  .  mistaken 
policy     ...     no  fault  of  mine.     .     .     ." 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and 
died. 

Reggie  drew  the  sheet  over  Its  face,  and 
went  out  into  the  veranda,  with  his  last  "men- 
tal stimulant" — a  letter  of  condolence  and 
sympathy  from  the  Directors — unused  in  his 
pocket. 

"If  I'd  been  only  ten  minutes  earlier," 
thought  Reggie,  "I  might  have  heartened  him 
up  to  pull  through  another  day," 


TODS'  AMENDMENT 


TODS'  AMENDMENT 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 

Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 
God's  mercy  is  upon  the  young, 
God's  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 

That  fears  not  anything. 

— The  Parable  of  Chajju  Bhagat. 

\TOW  Tods'  Mamma  was  a  singularly 
-^^  charming  woman,  and  every  one  in 
Simla  knew  Tods.  Most  men  had  saved  him 
from  death  on  occasions.  He  was  beyond  his 
ayah's  control  altogether,  and  periled  his  life 
daily  to  find  out  what  would  happen  if  you 
pulled  a  Mountain  Battery  mule's  tail.  He 
was  an  utterly  fearless  young  Pagan,  about 
six  years  old,  and  the  only  baby  who  ever 
broke  the  holy  calm  of  the  Supreme  Legis- 
lative Council. 

It  happened  this  way:    Tods'  pet  kid  got 

loose,  and  fled  up  the  hill,  off  the  Boileaugunge 

Road,   Tods   after  it,   until   it  burst  into  the 

Viceregal     Lodge     lawn,     then     attached    to 

275 


276  TODS'  AMENDMENT 

"Peterhoff."  The  Council  were  sitting  at  the 
time,  and  the  windows  were  open  because  it 
was  warm.  The  Red  Lancer  in  the  porch  told 
Tods  to  go  away;  but  Tods  knew  the  Red 
Lancer  and  most  of  the  Members  of  Council 
personally.  Moreover,  he  had  firm  hold  of 
the  kid's  collar,  and  was  being  dragged  all 
across  the  flower-beds.  "Give  my  salaam  to 
the  long  Councilor  Sahib,  and  ask  him  to  help 
me  take  Moti  back !"  gasped  Tods.  The  Coun- 
cil heard  the  noise  through  the  open  windows ; 
and,  after  an  interval,  was  seen  the  shocking 
spectacle  of  a  Legal  Member  and  a  Lieutenant- 
Governor  helping,  under  the  direct  patronage 
of  a  Commander-in-Chief  and  a  Viceroy,  one 
small  and  very  dirty  boy  in  a  sailor's  suit  and 
a  tangle  of  brown  hair,  to  coerce  a  lively  and 
rebellious  kid.  They  headed  it  off  down  the 
path  to  the  Mall,  and  Tods  went  home  in  tri- 
umph and  told  his  Mamma  that  all  the  Coun- 
cilor Sahibs  had  been  helping  him  to  catch 
Moti.  Whereat  his  Mamma  smacked  Tods 
for  interfering  with  the  administration  of  the 
Empire ;  but  Tods  met  the  Legal  Member  the 
next  day,  and  told  him  in  confidence  that  if 
the  Legal  Member  ever  wanted  to  catch  a  goat, 
he,  Tods,  would  give  him  all  the  help  in  his 
power.  "Thank  you,  Tods,"  said  the  Legal 
Member. 


TODS'  AMENDMENT  277 

Tods  was  the  idol  of  some  eighty  jham- 
panis,  and  half  as  many  saises.  He  saluted 
them  all  as  "O  Brother."  It  never  entered  his 
head  that  any  living  human  being  could  dis- 
obey his  orders ;  and  he  was  the  buffer  between 
the  servants  and  his  Mamma's  wrath.  The 
working  of  that  household  turned  on  Tods, 
who  was  adored  by  every  one  from  the  dhoby 
to  the  dog-boy.  Even  Futteh  Khan,  the  vil- 
lainous loafer  khit  from  Mussoorie,  shirked 
risking  Tods'  displeasure  for  fear  his  co- 
mates  should  look  down  on  him. 

So  Tods  had  honor  in  the  land  from 
Boileaugunge  to  Chota  Simla,  and  ruled  justly 
according  to  his  lights.  Of  course,  he  spoke 
Urdu,  but  he  had  also  mastered  many  queer 
side-speeches  like  the  cJwtee  bolee  of  the 
women,  and  held  grave  converse  with  shop- 
keepers and  Hill-coolies  alike.  He  was  pre- 
cocious for  his  age,  and  his  mixing  with  na- 
tives had  taught  him  some  of  the  more  bitter 
truths  of  life;  the  meanness  and  the  sordidness 
of  it.  He  used,  over  his  bread  and  milk,  to 
deliver  solemn  and  serious  aphorisms,  trans- 
lated from  the  vernacular  into  the  English, 
that  made  his  Mamma  jump  and  vow  that 
Tods  must  go  Home  next  hot  weather. 

Just  when  Tods  was  in  the  bloom  of  his 


278  TODS'  AMENDMENT 

power,  the  Supreme  Legislature  were  hack- 
ing out  a  Bill  for  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts,  a 
revision  of  the  then  Act,  smaller  than  the  Pun- 
jab Land  Bill  but  affecting  a  few  hundred 
thousand  people  none  the  less.  The  Legal 
Member  had  built  and  bolstered,  and  em- 
broidered, and  amended  that  Bill,  till  it  looked 
beautiful  on  paper.  Then  the  Council  began 
to  settle  what  they  called  the  "minor  details." 
As  if  any  Englishman  legislating  for  natives 
knows  enough  to  know  which  are  the  minor 
and  which  are  the  major  points,  from  the 
native  point  of  view,  of  any  measure!  That 
Bill  was  a  triumph  of  "safeguarding  the  in- 
terests of  the  tenant."  One  clause  provided 
that  land  should  not  be  leased  on  longer  terms 
than  five  years  at  a  stretch ;  because,  if  the 
landlord  had  a  tenant  bound  down  for,  say, 
twenty  years,  he  would  squeeze  the  very  life 
out  of  him.  The  notion  was  to  keep  up  a 
stream  of  independent  cultivators  in  the  Sub- 
Montane  Tracts;  and  ethnologically  and  po- 
litically the  notion  was  correct.  The  only 
drawback  was  that  it  was  altogether  wrong. 
A  native's  life  in  India  implies  the  life  of  his 
son.  Wherefore,  you  cannot  legislate  for  one 
generation  at  a  time.  You  must  consider  the 
next  from  the  native  point  of  view.     Curiously 


TODS'  AMENDMENT  279 

enough,  the  native  now  and  then,  and  in 
Northern  India  more  particularly,  hates  being 
over-protected  against  himself.  There  was  a 
Naga  village  once,  where  they  lived  on  dead 

and   buried   Commissariat    mules 

But  that  is  another  story. 

For  many  reasons,  to  be  explained  later,  the 
people  concerned  objected  to  the  Bill.  The 
Native  member  in  Council  knew  as  much 
about  Punjabis  as  he  knew  about  Charing 
Cross.  He  had  said  in  Calcutta  that  "the 
Bill  was  entirely  in  accord  with  the  desires  of 
that  large  and  important  class,  the  culti- 
vators;" and  so  on,  and  so  on.  The  legal 
Member's  knowledge  of  natives  was  limited 
to  English-speaking  Dubaris,  and  his  own  red 
chaprassis,  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  concerned 
no  one  in  particular,  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioners were  a  good  deal  too  driven  to  make 
representations,  and  the  measure  was  one 
which  dealt  with  small  landholders  only. 
Nevertheless,  the  Legal  Member  prayed  that 
it  might  be  correct,  for  he  was  a  nervously 
conscientious  man.  He  did  not  know  that  no 
man  can  tell  what  natives  think  unless  he 
mixes  with  them  with  the  varnish  off.  And 
not  always  then.  But  he  did  the  best  he  knew. 
And  the  measure  came  up  to  the   Supreme 


280  TODS'  AMENDMENT 

Council  for  the  final  touches,  while  Tods 
patroled  the  Burra  Simla  Bazar  in  his  morn- 
ing rides,  and  played  with  the  monkey  be- 
longing to  Ditta  Mull,  the  biinnia,  and  listened, 
as  a  child  listens,  to  all  the  stray  talk  about 
this  new  freak  of  the  Lord  Sahib's. 

One  day  there  was  a  dinner-party,  at  the 
house  of  Tods'  Mamma,  and  the  Legal  Mem- 
ber came.  Tods  was  in  bed,  but  he  kept  awake 
till  he  heard  the  bursts  of  laughter  from  the 
men  over  the  coffee.  Then  he  paddled  out  in 
his  little  red  flannel  dressing-gown  and  his 
night-suit  and  took  refuge  by  the  side  of  his 
father,  knowing  that  he  would  not  be  sent 
back.  "See  the  miseries  of  having  a  family !" 
said  Tods'  father,  giving  Tods  three  prunes, 
some  water  in  a  glass  that  had  been  used  for 
claret,  and  telling  him  to  sit  still.  Tods  sucked 
the  prunes  slowly,  knowing  that  he  would  have 
to  go  when  they  were  finished,  and  sipped  the 
pink  water  like  a  man  of  the  world,  as  he  lis- 
tened to  the  conversation.  Presently,  the 
Legal  Member,  talking  "shop"  to  the  Head  of 
a  Department,  mentioned  his  Bill  by  its  full 
name — "The  Sub-Montane  Tracts  Ryohvary 
Revised  Enactment."  Tods  caught  the  one 
native  word  and  lifting  up  his  small  voice 
said — 


TODS'  AMENDMENT  28r 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that!  Has  it  been 
murramutted  yet,  Councilor  Sahib?" 

"How  much?"  said  the  Legal  Member. 

"Murramutted — mended.  — Put  theek,  you 
know — made  nice  to  please  Ditta  Mull!" 

The  Legal  Member  left  his  place  and  moved 
up  next  to  Tods. 

"What  do  you  know  about  ryotwari,  little 
man?"  he  said. 

"I'm  not  a  little  man,  I'm  Tods,  and  I  know 
all  about  it.  Ditta  Mull,  and  Choga  Lall,  and 
Amir  Nath,  and — oh,  lakhs  of  my  friends  tell 
me  about  it  in  the  bazars  when  I  talk  to  them." 

"Oh,  they  do — do  they?  What  do  they  say, 
Tods?" 

Tods  tucked  his  feet  under  his  red  flannel 
dressing-gown  and  said — "I  must  fink." 

The  Legal  Member  waited  patiently.  Then 
Tods  with  infinite  compassion — 

"You  don't  speak  my  talk,  do  you,  Coun- 
cilor Sahib?" 

"No;  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,"  said  the 
Legal  Member. 

"Very  well,"  said  Tods,  "I  must  fink  in 
English." 

He  spent  a  minute  putting  his  ideas  in  order, 
and  began  very  slowly,  translating  in  his  mind 
from    the    vernacular    to    English,    as    many 


2^2  TODS'  AMENDMENT 

Anglo-Indian  children  do.  You  must  remem- 
ber that  the  Legal  Member  helped  him  on  by 
questions  when  he  halted,  for  Tods  was  not 
equal  to  the  sustained  flight  of  oratory  that 
follows. 

"Ditta  Mull  says,  'This  thing  is  the  talk  of 
a  child,  and  was  made  up  by  fools.'  But  / 
don't  think  you  are  a  fool,  Councilor  Sahib," 
said  Tods,  hastily.  "You  caught  my  goat. 
This  is  what  Ditta  Mull  says — T  am  not  a 
fool,  and  why  should  the  Sirkar  say  I  am  a 
child?  I  can  see  if  the  land  is  good  and  if  the 
landlord  is  good.  If  I  am  a  fool,  the  sin  is 
upon  my  own  head.  For  five  years  I  take  my 
ground  for  which  I  have  saved  money,  and  a 
wife  I  take  too,  and  a  little  son  is  born.'  Ditta 
Mull  has  one  daughter  now,  but  he  says  he 
will  have  a  son,  soon.  And  he  says,  'At  the 
end  of  five  years,  by  this  new  bundobust,  I 
must  go.  If  I  do  not  go,  I  must  get  fresh 
seals  and  takkus-stamps  on  the  papers,  per- 
haps in  the  middle  of  the  harvest,  and  to  go 
to  the  law-courts  once  is  wisdom,  but  to  go 
twice  is  Jchannum.'  That  is  quite  true,"  ex- 
plained Tods,  gravely.  "All  my  friends  say 
so.  And  Ditta  Mull  says,  'Always  fresh 
takkus  and  paying  money  to  vakils  and 
chaprassis  and  law-courts  every  five  years,  or 


TODS'  AMENDMENT  283 

else  the  landlord  makes  me  go.  Why  do  I 
want  to  go  ?  Am  I  a  fool  ?  If  I  am  a  foo!  and 
do  not  know,  after  forty  years,  good  land  when 
I  see  it,  let  me  die!  But  if  the  new  bundobust 
says  for  -fifteen  years,  that  it  is  good  and  wise. 
My  little  son  is  a  man,  and  I  am  burned,  and 
he  takes  the  ground  or  another  ground,  pay- 
ing only  once  for  the  takkus-st^m^  on  the 
papers,  and  his  little  son  is  born,  and  at  the 
end  of  fifteen  years  is  a  man  too.  But  what 
profit  is  there  in  five  years  and  fresh  papers? 
Nothing  but  dikh,  trouble,  dikh.  We  are  not 
young  men  who  take  these  lands,  but  old  ones 
— not  farmers,  but  tradesmen  with  a  little 
money — and  for  fifteen  years  we  shall  have 
peace.  Nor  are  we  children  that  the  Sirkar 
should  treat  us  so.'  " 

Here  Tods  stopped  short,  for  the  whole 
table  were  listening.  The  Legal  Member  said 
to  Tods,  "Is  that  all?" 

"All  I  can  remember,"  said  Tods.  "But 
you  should  see  Ditta  Mull's  big  monkey.  It's 
just  like  a  Councilor  Sahib." 

"Tods!    Go  to  bed,"  said  his  father. 

Tods  gathered  up  his  dressing-gown  tail 
and  departed. 

The  Legal  Member  brought  his  hand  down 
on  the  table  with  a  crash — "By  Jove!"  said 


284  TODS'  AMENDMENT 

the  Legal  Member,  "I  believe  the  boy  is  right. 
The  short  tenure  is  the  weak  point." 

He  left  early,  thinking  over  what  Tods  had 
said.  Now,  it  was  obviously  impossible  for 
the  Legal  Member  to  play  with  a  bunnia's 
monkey,  by  way  of  getting  understanding; 
but  he  did  better.  He  made  inquiries,  always 
bearing  in  mind  the  fact  that  the  real  native — 
not  the  hybrid,  University-trained  mule — is  as 
timid  as  a  colt,  and,  little  by  little,  he  coaxed 
some  of  the  men  whom  the  measure  concerned 
most  intimately  to  give  in  their  views,  which 
squared  very  closely  with  Tod's  evidence. 

So  the  Bill  was  amended  in  that  clause;  and 
the  Legal  Member  was  filled  with  an  uneasy 
suspicion  that  Native  Members  represent  very 
little  except  the  Orders  they  carry  on  their 
bosoms.  But  he  put  the  thought  from  him 
as  illiberal.     He  was  a  most  Liberal  man. 

After  a  time,  the  news  spread  through  the 
bazars  that  Tods  had  got  the  Bill  recast  in  the 
tenure-clause,  and  if  Tods'  Mamma  had  not  in- 
terfered, Tods  would  have  made  himself  sick 
on  the  baskets  of  fruit  and  pistachio  nuts  and 
Cabuli  grapes  and  almonds  that  crowded  the 
veranda.  Till  he  went  Home,  Tods  ranked 
some  few  degrees  before  the  Viceroy  in  pop- 
ular estimation.  But  for  the  little  life  of  him 
Tods  could  not  understand  why. 


TODS'  AMENDMENT  285 

In  the  Legal  Member's  private-paper-box 
still  lies  the  rough  draft  of  the  Sub-Montane 
Tracts  Ryotwary  Revised  Enactment ;  and,  op- 
posite the  twenty-second  clause,  penciled  in 
blue  chalk,  and  signed  by  the  Legal  Member, 
are  the  words  "Tods'  Amendment" 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

"Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own ! 

Look  at  him  cutting  it — cur  to  the  bone !" 
"Ask,  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden, 

What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden? 

Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start ; 

Maybe  Fate's  weight-clothes  are  breaking  his  heart." 

— Life's  Handicap. 

WHEN  I  was  telling  you  of  the  joke  that 
The  Worm  played  off  on  the  Senior 
Subaltern,  I  promised  a  somewhat  similiar 
tale,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out.  This  is  that 
tale. 

Dicky  Hatt  was  kidnapped  in  his  early, 
early  youth — neither  by  landlady's  daughter, 
housemaid,  barmaid,  nor  cook,  but  by  a  girl  so 
nearly  of  his  own  caste  that  only  a  woman 
could  have  said  she  was  just  the  least  little  bit 
in  the  world  below  it.  This  happened  a  month 
before  he  came  out  to  India,  and  five  days  after 
his  one-and-twentieth  birthday.  The  girl  was 
nineteen — six  years  older  than  Dicky  in  the 
things  of  this  world,  that  is  to  say — and,  for 
the  time,  twice  as  foolish  as  he. 
289 


290  IN  THE  PRIDE 

Excepting,  always,  falling  off  a  horse  there 
is  nothing  more  fatally  easy  than  marriage  be- 
fore the  Registrar.  The  ceremony  costs  less 
than  fifty  shillings,  and  is  remarkably  like 
walking  into  a  pawn-shop.  After  the  declara- 
tions of  residence  have  been  put  in,  four  min- 
utes will  cover  the  rest  of  the  proceedings — 
fees,  attestation,  and  all.  Then  the  Registrar 
slides  the  blotting-pad  over  the  names,  and 
says  grimly  with  his  pen  between  his  teeth, 
"Now  you're  man  and  wife" ;  and  the  couple 
walk  out  into  the  street  feeling  as  if  something 
were  horribly  illegal  somewhere. 

But  that  ceremony  holds  and  can  drag  a  man 
to  his  undoing  just  as  thoroughly  as  the  "long 
as  ye  both  shall  live"  curse  from  the  altar-rails, 
with  the  bridesmaids  giggling  behind,  and 
"The  voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden"  lifting  the 
roof  off.  In  this  manner  was  Dicky  Hatt  kid- 
napped, and  he  considered  it  vastly  fine,  for  he 
had  received  an  appointment  in  India  which 
carried  a  magnificent  salary  from  the  Home 
point  of  view.  The  marriage  was  to  be  kept 
secret  for  a  year.  Then  Mrs.  Dicky  Hatt  was 
to  come  out,  and  the  rest  of  her  life  was  to  be 
a  glorious  golden  mist.  That  was  how  they 
sketched  it  under  the  Addison  Road  Station 
lamps;    and,    after    one    short    month,    came 


OF  HIS  YOUTH  291 

Gravesend  and  Dicky  steaming  out  to  his  new 
life,  and  the  girl  crying  in  a  thirty-shillings  a 
week  bed-and-living-room,  in  a  back  street  off 
Montpelier  Square  near  the  Knightsbridge 
Barracks. 

But  the  country  that  Dicky  came  to  was  a 
hard  land  where  men  of  twenty-one  were  reck- 
oned very  small  boys  indeed,  and  life  was  ex- 
pensive. The  salary  that  loomed  so  large  six 
thousand  miles  away  did  not  go  far.  Particu- 
larly when  Dicky  divided  it  by  two,  and  re- 
mitted more  than  the  fair  half,  at  1-6  7-8,  to 
Montpelier  Square.  One  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  rupees  out  of  three  hundred  and  thirty  is 
not  much  to  live  on ;  but  it  was  absurd  to  sup- 
pose that  Mrs.  Hatt  could  exist  forever  on  the 
£20  held  back  by  Dicky  from  his  outfit  allow- 
ance. Dicky  saw  this  and  remitted  at  once; 
always  remembering  that  Rs.  700  were  to  be 
paid,  twelve  months  later,  for  a  first-class  pas- 
sage out  for  a  lady.  When  you  add  to  these 
trifling  details  the  natural  instincts  of  a  boy 
beginning  a  new  life  in  a  new  country  and 
longing  to  go  about  and  enjoy  himself,  and  the 
necessity  for  grappling  with  strange  work — 
which,  properly  speaking,  should  take  up  a 
boy's  undivided  attention — you  will  see  that 
Dicky  started  handicapped.    He  saw  it  himself 


292  IN  THE  PRIDE 

for  a  breath  or  two;  but  he  did  not  guess  the 
full  beauty  of  his  future. 

As  the  hot  weather  began,  the  shackles  set- 
tled on  him  and  ate  into  his  flesh.  First  would 
come  letters — big,  crossed,  seven-sheet  letters 
— -from  his  wife,  telling  him  how  she  longed 
to  see  him,  and  what  a  Heaven  upon  earth 
would  be  their  property  when  they  met.  Then 
some  boy  of  the  chummery  wherein  Dicky 
lodged  would  pound  on  the  door  of  his  bare 
little  room,  and  tell  him  to  come  out  to  look 
at  a  pony — the  very  thing  to  suit  him.  Dicky 
could  not  afford  ponies.  He  had  to  explain 
this.  Dicky  could  not  afford  living  in  the 
chummery,  modest  as  it  was.  He  had  to  ex- 
plain this  before  he  moved  to  a  single  room 
next  the  office  where  he  worked  all  day.  He 
kept  the  house  on  a  green  oilcloth  table-cover, 
one  chair,  one  bedstead,  one  photograph,  one 
tooth-glass  very  strong  and  thick,  a  seven-ru- 
pee eight-anna  filter,  and  messing  by  contract 
at  thirty-seven  rupees  a  month.  Which  last 
item  was  extortion.  He  had  no  punkah,  for  a 
punkah  costs  fifteen  rupees  a  month;  but  he 
slept  on  the  roof  of  the  office  with  all  his  wife's 
letters  under  his  pillow.  Now  and  again  he 
was  asked  out  to  dinner,  where  he  got  both  a 
punkah  and  an  iced  drink.     But  this  was  sel- 


OF  HIS  YOUTH  293 

dom,  for  people  objected  to  recognizing  a  boy 
who  had  evidently  the  instincts  of  a  Scotch 
tallow-chandler,  and  who  lived  in  such  a  nasty 
fashion.  Dicky  could  not  subscribe  to  any 
amusement,  so  he  found  no  amusement  except 
the  pleasure  of  turning  over  his  Bank-book 
and  reading  what  it  said  about  "loans  on  ap- 
proved security."  That  cost  nothing.  He  re- 
mitted through  a  Bombay  Bank,  by  the  way, 
and  the  Station  knew  nothing  of  his  private 
affairs. 

Every  month  he  sent  Home  all  he  could  pos- 
sibly spare  for  his  wife  and  for  another  reason 
which  was  expected  to  explain  itself  shortly, 
and  would  require  more  money. 

About  this  time  Dicky  was  overtaken  with 
the  nervous,  haunting  fear  that  besets  married 
men  when  they  are  out  of  sorts.  He  had  no 
pension  to  look  to.  What  if  he  should  die  sud- 
denly, and  leave  his  wife  unprovided  for? 
The  thought  used  to  lay  hold  of  him  in  the 
still,  hot  nights  on  the  roof,  till  the  shaking  of 
his  heart  made  him  think  that  he  was  going  to 
die  then  and  there  of  heart-disease.  Now  this 
is  a  frame  of  mind  which  no  boy  has  a  right  to 
know.  It  is  a  strong  man's  trouble;  but  com- 
ing, when  it  did,  it  nearly  drove  poor  punkah- 
less,  perspiring  Dicky  Hatt  mad.  He  could 
tell  no  one  about  it. 


294  IN  THE  PRIDE 

A  certain  amount  of  "screw"  is  as  necessary 
for  a  man  as  for  a  billiard-ball.  It  makes 
them  both  do  wonderful  things.  Dicky  needed 
money  badly,  and  he  worked  for  it  like  a  horse. 
But,  naturally,  the  men  who  owned  him  knew 
that  a  boy  can  live  very  comfortable  on  a  cer- 
tain income — pay  in  India  is  a  matter  of  age 
not  merit,  you  see,  and,  if  their  particular  boy 
wished  to  work  like  two  boys,  Business  forbid 
that  they  should  stop  him.  But  Business  for- 
bid that  they  should  give  him  an  increase  of 
pay  at  his  present  ridiculously  immature  age. 
So  Dicky  won  certain  rises  of  salary — ample 
for  a  boy — not  enough  for  a  wife  and  a  child 
— certainly  too  little  for  the  seven-hundred- 
rupee  passage  that  he  and  Mrs.  Hatt  had  dis- 
cussed so  lightly  once  upon  a  time.  And  with 
this  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 

Somehow,  all  his  money  seemed  to  fade 
away  in  Home  drafts  and  the  crushing  Ex- 
change, and  the  tone  of  the  Home  letters 
changed  and  grew  querulous.  "Why  wouldn't 
Dicky  have  his  wife  and  the  baby  out  ?  Surely 
he  had  a  salary — a  fine  salary — and  it  was  too 
bad  of  him  to  enjoy  himself  in  India.  But 
would  he — could  he — make  the  next  draft  a 
little  more  elastic?"  Here  followed  a  list  of 
baby's  kit,  as  long  as  a  Parsee's  bill.     Then 


OF  HIS  YOUTH  295 

Dicky,  whose  heart  yearned  to  his  wife  and  lit- 
tle son  he  had  never  seen — which,  again,  is  a 
feeling  no  boy  is  entitled  to — enlarged  the 
draft  and  wrote  queer  half-boy,  half-man  let- 
ters, saying  that  life  was  not  so  enjoyable  after 
all  and  would  the  little  wife  wait  yet  a  little 
longer  ?  But  the  little  wife,  however  much  she 
approved  of  money,  objected  to  waiting,  and 
there  was  a  strange,  hard  sort  of  ring  in  her 
letters  that  Dicky  didn't  understand.  How 
could  he,  poor  boy  ? 

Later  on  still — just  as  Dicky  had  been  told 
— apropos  of  another  youngster  who  had 
"made  a  fool  of  himself"  as  the  saying  is — 
that  matrimony  would  not  only  ruin  his  fur- 
ther chances  of  advancement,  but  would  lose 
him  his  present  appointment — came  the  news 
that  the  baby,  his  own  little,  little  son,  had  died 
and,  behind  this,  forty  lines  of  an  angry 
woman's  scrawl,  saying  the  death  might  have 
been  averted  if  certain  things,  all  costing 
money,  had  been  done,  or  if  the  mother  and 
the  baby  had  been  with  Dicky.  The  letter 
struck  at  Dicky's  naked  heart;  but,  not  being 
officially  entitled  to  a  baby,  he  could  show  no 
sign  of  trouble. 

How  Dicky  won  through  the  next  four 
months,  and  what  hope  he  kept  alight  to  force 


296  IN  THE  PRIDE 

him  into  his  work,  no  one  dare  say.  He 
pounded  on,  the  seven-hundred-rtipee  passage 
as  far  away  as  ever,  and  his  style  of  living  un- 
changed, except  when  he  launched  into  a  new 
filter.  There  was  the  strain  of  his  office-work, 
and  the  strain  of  his  remittances,  and  the 
knowledge  of  his  boy's  death,  which  touched 
the  boy  more,  perhaps,  than  it  would  have 
touched  a  man;  and,  beyond  all,  the  enduring 
strain  of  his  daily  life.  Grey-headed  seniors 
who  approved  of  his  thrift  and  his  fashion  of 
denying  himself  everything  pleasant,  reminded 
him  of  the  old  saw  that  says — 


'If  a  youth  would  be  distinguished  in  his  art,  art,  art, 
He  must  keep  the  girls  away  from  his  heart,  heart, 
heart." 


And  Dicky,  who  fancied  he  had  been 
through  every  trouble  that  a  man  is  permitted 
to  know,  had  to  laugh  and  agree ;  with  the  last 
line  of  his  balanced  Bank-book  jingling  in  his 
head  day  and  night. 

But  he  had  one  more  sorrow  to  digest  before 
the  end.  There  arrived  a  letter  from  the  little 
wife — the  natural  sequence  of  the  others  if 
Dicky  had  only  known  it — and  the  burden  of 
that  letter  was  "gone  with  a  handsomer  man 
than  you."     It  was  a  rather  curious  produc- 


OF  HIS  YOUTH  297 

tion,  without  stops,  something  like  this — "She 
was  not  going  to  wait  forever  and  the  baby 
was  dead  and  Dicky  was  only  a  boy  and  he 
would  never  set  eyes  on  her  again  and  why 
hadn't  he  waved  his  handkerchief  to  her  when 
he  left  Gravesend  and  God  was  her  judge  she 
was  a  wicked  woman  but  Dicky  was  worse  en- 
joying himself  in  India  and  this  other  man 
loved  the  ground  she  trod  on  and  would  Dicky 
ever  forgive  her  for  she  would  never  forgive 
Dicky;  and  there  was  no  address  to  write  to." 

Instead  of  thanking  his  stars  that  he  was 
free,  Dicky  discovered  exactly  how  an  injured 
husband  feels — again,  not  at  all  the  knowledge 
to  which  a  boy  is  entitled — for  his  mind  went 
back  to  his  wife  as  he  remembered  her  in  the 
thirty-shilling  "suite"  in  Montpelier  Square, 
when  the  dawn  of  his  last  morning  in  England 
was  breaking,  and  she  was  crying  in  the  bed. 
Whereat  he  rolled  about  on  his  bed  and  bit  his 
fingers.  He  never  stopped  to  think  whether, 
if  he  had  met  Mrs.  Hatt  after  those  two  years, 
he  would  have  discovered  that  he  and  she  had 
grown  quite  different  and  new  persons.  This, 
theoretically,  he  ought  to  have  done.  He  spent 
the  night  after  the  English  Mail  came  in  rather 
severe  pain. 

Next  morning,  Dicky  Hatt  felt  disinclined 


298  IN  THE  PRIDE 

to  work.  He  argued  that  he  had  missed  the 
pleasure  of  youth.  He  was  tired,  and  had 
tasted  all  the  sorrow  in  life  before  three-and- 
twenty.  His  Honor  was  gone — that  was  the 
man;  and  now  he,  too,  would  go  to  the  Devil 
— that  was  the  boy  in  him.  So  he  put  his  head 
down  on  the  green  oilcloth  table-cover,  and 
wept  before  resigning  his  post,  and  all  it  of- 
fered. 

But  the  reward  of  his  services  came.  He 
was  given  three  days  to  reconsider  himself, 
and  the  Head  of  the  establishment,  after  some 
telegraphings,  said  that  it  was  a  most  unusual 
step,  but,  in  view  of  the  ability  that  Mr.  Hatt 
had  displayed  at  such  and  such  a  time,  at  such 
and  such  junctures,  he  was  in  a  position  to  of- 
fer him  an  infinitely  superior  post — first  on 
probation  and  later,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  on  confirmation.  "And  how  much 
does  the  post  carry?"  said  Dicky.  "Six  hun- 
dred and  fifty  rupees,"  said  the  Head,  slowly, 
expecting  to  see  the  young  man  sink  with  grat- 
itude and  joy. 

And  it  came  then!  The  seven-hundred-ru- 
pee-passage, and  enough  to  have  saved  the 
wife,  and  the  little  son,  and  to  have  allowed  of 
assured  and  open  marriage,  came  then.  Dicky 
burst   into   a   roar   of  laughter — laughter  he 


OF  HIS  YOUTH  299 

could  not  check — nasty,  jangling  merriment 
that  seemed  as  if  it  would  go  on  forever. 
When  he  had  recovered  himself  he  said,  quite 
seriously,  "I'm  tired  of  work.  I'm  an  old  man 
now.     It's  about  time  I  retired.    And  I  will." 

"The  boy's  mad !"  said  the  Head. 

I  think  he  was  right ;  but  Dicky  Hatt  never 
reappeared  to  settle  the  question. 


PIG. 


PIG 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  tri2  heather, 

Ride,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can! 
But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together, 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man, — 
The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 

To  its  ruin, — the  hunting  of  Man. 

— The  Old  Shikarri. 

I  BELIEVE  the  difference  began  in  the  mat- 
ter of  a  horse,  with  a  twist  in  his  temper, 
whom  Pinecoffin  sold  to  Nafferton  and  by 
whom  Nafferton  was  nearly  slain.  There  may 
have  been  other  causes  of  offence;  the  horse 
was  the  official  stalking-horse.  Nafferton  was 
very  angry,  but  Pinecoffin  laughed,  and  said 
that  he  had  never  guaranteed  the  beast's  man- 
ners. Nafferton  laughed  too,  though  he  vowed 
that  he  would  write  off  his  fall  against  Pine- 
coffin if  he  waited  five  years.  Now,  a  Dales- 
man from  beyond  Skipton  will  forgive  an  in- 
jury when  the  Strid  lets  a  man  live;  but  a 
South  Devon  man  is  as  soft  as  a  Dartmoor 
bog.  You  can  see  from  their  names  that  Naf- 
ferton had  the  race-advantage  of  Pinecoffin. 
303 


304  PIG 

He  was  a  peculiar  man,  and  his  notions  of  hu- 
mor were  cruel.  He  taught  me  a  new  and  fas- 
cinating form  of  shikar.  He  hounded  Pine- 
coffin  from  Mithankot  to  Jagadri,  and  from 
Gurgaon  to  Abbottabad — up  and  across  the 
Punjab,  a  large  Province,  and  in  places  re- 
markably dry.  He  said  that  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  allowing  Assistant  Commissioners  to 
"sell  him  pups,"  in  the  shape  of  ramping, 
screaming  countrybreds,  without  making  their 
lives  a  burden  to  them. 

Most  Assistant  Commissioners  develop  a 
bent  for  some  special  work  after  their  first  hot 
weather  in  the  country.  The  boys  with  diges- 
tions hope  to  write  their  names  large  on  the 
Frontier,  and  struggle  for  dreary  places  like 
Bannu  and  Kohat.  The  bilious  ones  climb  into 
the  Secretariat.  Which  is  very  bad  for  the 
liver.  Others  are  bitten  with  a  mania  for  Dis- 
trict work,  Ghuznivide  coins  or  Persian  poe- 
try; while  some,  who  come  of  farmers'  stock, 
find  that  the  smell  of  the  Earth  after  the  Rains 
gets  into  their  blood,  and  calls  them  to  "de- 
velop the  resources  of  the  Province."  These 
men  are  enthusiasts.  Pinecoffin  belonged  to 
their  class.  He  knew  a  great  many  facts  bear- 
ing on  the  cost  of  bullocks  and  temporary 
wells,  and  opium-scrapers,  and  what  happens 


PIG  305 

if  you  burn  too  much  rubbish  on  a  field  in  the 
hope  of  enriching  used-up  soil.  All  the  Pine- 
coffins  come  of  a  landholding  breed,  and  so  the 
land  only  took  back  her  own  again.  Unfor- 
tunately— most  unfortunately  for  Pinecoffin — 
he  was  a  Civilian  as  well  as  a  farmer.  Naf- 
ferton  watched  him,  and  thought  about  the 
horse.  Nafferton  said,  "See  me  chase  that  boy 
till  he  drops!"  I  said,  "You  can't  get  your 
knife  into  an  Assistant  Commissioner."  Naf- 
ferton told  me  that  I  did  not  understand  the 
administration  of  the  Province. 

Our  Government  is  rather  peculiar.  It 
gushes  on  the  agricultural  and  general  infor- 
mation side,  and  will  supply  a  moderately  re- 
spectable man  with  all  sorts  of  "economic  sta- 
tistics," if  he  speaks  to  it  prettily.  For  in- 
stance, you  are  interested  in  gold-washing  in 
the  sands  of  the  Sutlej.  You  pull  the  string, 
and  find  that  it  wakes  up  half  a  dozen  Depart- 
ments, and  finally  communicates,  say,  with  a 
friend  of  yours  in  the  Telegraph,  who  once 
wrote  some  notes  on  the  customs  of  the  gold- 
washers  when  he  was  on  construction-work  in 
their  part  of  the  Empire.  He  may  or  may  not 
be  pleased  at  being  ordered  to  write  out  every- 
thing he  knows  for  your  benefit.  This  de- 
pends on  his  temperament.     The  bigger  man 


306  PIG 

you  are,  the  more  information  and  the  greater 
trouble  can  you  raise. 

Nafferton  was  not  a  big  man;  but  he  had 
the  reputation  of  being  very  "earnest."  An 
"earnest"  man  can  do  much  with  a  Govern- 
ment. There  was  an  earnest  man  once  who 
nearly  wrecked  .  .  .  but  all  India  knows 
that  story.  I  am  not  sure  what  real  "earnest- 
ness" is.  A  very  fair  imitation  can  be  manu- 
factured by  neglecting  to  dress  decently,  by 
mooning  about  in  a  dreamy,  misty  sort  of 
way,  by  taking  office-work  home,  after  staying 
in  office  till  seven,  and  by  receiving  crowds  of 
native  gentlemen  on  Sundays.  That  is  one 
sort  of  "earnestness." 

Nafferton  cast  about  for  a  peg  whereon  to 
hang  his  earnestness,  and  for  a  string  that 
would  communicate  with  Pinecoffin.  He 
found  both.  They  were  Pig.  Nafferton  be- 
came an  earnest  inquirer  after  Pig.  He  in- 
formed the  Government  that  he  had  a  scheme 
whereby  a  large  percentage  of  the  British 
Army  in  India  could  be  fed,  at  a  very  large 
saving,  on  Pig.  Then  he  hinted  that  Pinecof- 
fin might  supply  him  with  the  "varied  infor- 
mation necessary  to  the  proper  inception  of 
the  scheme."  So  the  Government  wrote  on 
the  back  of  the  letter,  "instruct  Mr.  Pinecoffin 


PIG  307 

to  furnish  Mr.  Nafferton  with  any  informa- 
tion in  his  power."  Government  is  very  prone 
to  writing  things  on  the  backs  of  letters  which, 
later,  lead  to  trouble  and  confusion. 

Nafferton  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in 
Pig,  but  he  knew  that  Pinecoffin  would  flounce 
into  the  trap.  Pinecoffin  was  delighted  at 
being  consulted  about  Pig.  The  Indian  Pig  is 
not  exactly  an  important  factor  in  agricultural 
life;  but  Nafferton  explained  to  Pinecoffin 
that  there  was  room  for  improvement,  and 
corresponded  direct  with  that  young  man. 

You  may  think  that  there  is  not  much  to  be 
evolved  from  Pig.  It  all  depends  how  you 
set  to  work.  Pinecoffin  being  a  Civilian  and 
wishing  to  do  things  thoroughly,  began  with 
an  essay  on  the  Primitive  Pig,  the  Mythology 
of  the  Pig,  and  the  Dravidian  Pig.  Nafferton 
filed  that  information — twenty-seven  foolscap 
sheets — and  wanted  to  know  about  the  distri- 
bution of  the  Pig  in  the  Punjab,  and  how  it 
stood  the  Plains  in  the  hot  weather.  From 
this  point  outward,  remember  that  I  am  giving 
you  only  the  barest  outlines  of  the  affair — the 
guy-ropes,  as  it  were,  of  the  web  that  Naffer- 
ton spun  round  Pinecoffin. 

Pinecoffin  made  a  colored  Pig-population 
map,  and  collected  observations  on  the  com- 


3o8  PIG 

parative  longevity  of  Pig  (a)  in  the  sub- 
montane tracts  of  the  Himalayas,  and  (b)  in 
the  Rechna  Doab.  Nafferton  filed  that,  and 
asked  what  sort  of  people  looked  after  Pig. 
This  started  an  ethnological  excursus  on 
swineherds,  and  drew  from  Pinecoffin  long  ta- 
bles showing  the  proportion  per  thousand  of 
the  caste  in  the  Derajat.  Nafferton  filed  that 
bundle,  and  explained  that  the  figures  which 
he  wanted  referred  to  the  Cis-Sutlej  states, 
where  he  understood  that  Pigs  were  very  fine 
and  large,  and  where  he  proposed  to  start  a 
Piggery.  By  this  time,  Government  had  quite 
forgotten  their  instructions  to  Mr.  Pinecoffin. 
They  were  like  the  gentlemen,  in  Keats'  poem, 
who  turned  well-oiled  wheels  to  skin  other 
people.  But  Pinecoffin  was  just  entering  into 
the  spirit  of  the  Pighunt,  as  Nafferton  well 
knew  he  would  do.  He  had  a  fair  amount  of 
work  of  his  own  to  clear  away ;  but  he  sat  up 
of  nights  reducing  Pig  to  five  places  of  deci- 
mals for  the  honor  of  his  Service.  He  was  not 
going  to  appear  ignorant  of  so  easy  a  subject 
as  Pig. 

Then  Government  sent  him  on  special  duty 
to  Kohat,  to  "inquire  into"  the  big,  seven-foot, 
iron-shod  spades  of  that  District.  People  had 
been   killing  each   other   with   those  peaceful 


PIG  309 

tools;  and  Government  wished  to  know 
"whether  a  modified  form  of  agricultural  im- 
plement could  not,  tentatively  and  as  a  tem- 
porary measure,  be  introduced  among  the  ag- 
ricultural population  without  needlessly  or  un- 
duly exacerbating  the  existing  religious  sen- 
timents of  the  peasantry." 

Between  those  spades  and  NafTerton's  Pig, 
Pinecoffin  was  rather  heavily  burdened. 

Nafferton  now  began  to  take  up  "(a)  The 
food-supply  of  the  indigenous  Pig,  with  a  view 
to  the  improvement  of  its  capacities  as  a  flesh- 
former,  (b)  The  acclimatization  of  the  exotic 
Pig,  maintaining  its  distinctive  peculiarities." 
Pinecoffin  replied  exhaustively  that  the  exotic 
Pig  would  become  merged  in  the  indigenous 
type;  and  quoted  horse-breeding  statistics  to 
prove  this.  The  side-issue  was  debated,  at 
great  length  on  Pinecoffin's  side,  till  Naffer- 
ton owned  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and 
moved  the  previous  question.  When  Pinecof- 
fin had  quite  written  himself  out  about  flesh- 
formers,  and  fibrins,  and  glucose  and  the  ni- 
trogenous constituents  of  maize  and  lucerne, 
Nafferton  raised  the  question  of  expense.  By 
this  time  Pinecoffin,  who  had  been  transferred 
from  Kohat,  had  developed  a  Pig  theory  of 
his  own,  which  he  stated  in  thirty-three  folio 


310  PIG 

pages — all  carefully  filed  by  Nafferton.     Who 
asked  for  more. 

These  things  took  ten  months,  and  Pinecof- 
fin's  interest  in  the  potential  Piggery  seemed  to 
die  down  after  he  had  stated  his  own  views. 
But  Nafferton  bombarded  him  with  letters  on 
"the  Imperial  aspect  of  the  scheme,  as  tending 
to  officialize  the  sale  of  pork,  and  thereby  cal- 
culated to  give  offence  to  the  Mohammedan 
population  of  Upper  India."  He  guessed  that 
Pinecoffin  would  want  some  broad,  free-hand 
work  after  his  niggling,  stippling,  decimal  de- 
tails. Pinecoffin  handled  the  latest  develop- 
ment of  the  case  in  masterly  style,  and  proved 
that  no  "popular  ebullition  of  excitement  was 
to  be  apprehended."  Nafferton  said  that  there 
was  nothing  like  Civilian  insight  in  matters  of 
this  kind,  and  lured  him  up  a  by-path — "the 
possible  profits  to  accrue  to  the  Government 
from  the  sale  of  hog-bristles."  There  is  an 
extensive  literature  of  hog-bristles,  and  the 
shoe,  brush,  and  color-man's  trades  recognize 
more  varieties  of  bristles  than  you  would  think 
possible.  After  Pinecoffin  had  wondered  a 
little  at  Nafferton's  rage  for  information,  he 
sent  back  a  monograph,  fifty-one  pages,  on 
"Products  of  the  Pig."  This  led  him,  under 
Nafferton's  tender  handling,    straight  to   the 


FIG  311 

Cawnpore  factories,  the  trade  in  hog-skin  for 
saddles — and  thence  to  the  tanners.  Pinecof- 
fin  wrote  that  pomegranate-seed  was  the  best 
cure  for  hog-skin,  and  suggested — for  the  past 
fourteen  months  had  wearied  him — that  Naf- 
ferton  should  "raise  his  pigs  before  he  tanned 
them." 

Nafferton  went  back  to  the  second  section 
of  his  fifth  question.  How  could  the  exotic 
Pig  be  brought  to  give  as  much  pork  as  it  did 
in  the  West  and  yet  "assume  the  essentially 
hirsute  characteristics  of  its  Oriental  con- 
gener" ?  Pinecoffin  felt  dazed,  for  he  had  for- 
gotten what  he  had  written  sixteen  months  be- 
fore, and  fancied  that  he  was  about  to  reopen 
the  entire  question.  He  was  too  far  involved 
in  the  hideous  tangle  to  retreat,  and,  in  a  weak 
moment,  he  wrote,  "Consult  my  first  letter." 
Which  related  to  the  Dravidian  Pig.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Pinecofrm  had  still  to  reach  the 
acclimatization  stage ;  having  gone  off  on  a 
side-issue  on  the  merging  of  types. 

Then  Nafferton  reallv  unmasked  his  bat- 
teries !  He  complained  to  the  Government,  in 
stately  language,  of  "the  paucity  of  help  ac- 
corded to  me  in  my  earnest  attempts  to  start  a 
potentially  remunerative  industry,  and  the  flip- 
pancy with  which  my  requests  for  information 


312  PIG 

are  treated  by  a  gentleman  whose  pseudo- 
scholarly  attainments  should  at  least  have 
taught  him  the  primary  differences  between 
the  Dravidian  and  the  Berkshire  variety  of  the 
genus  Sus.  If  I  am  to  understand  that  the  let- 
ter to  which  he  refers  me,  contains  his  serious 
views  on  the  acclimatization  of  a  valuable, 
though  possibly  uncleanly,  animal,  I  am  reluc- 
tantly compelled  to  believe,  etc.,  etc." 

There  was  a  new  man  at  the  head  of  the  De- 
partment of  Castigation.  The  wretched  Pine- 
coffin  was  told  that  the  Service  was  made  for 
the  Country,  and  not  the  Country  for  the  Ser- 
vice, and  that  he  had  better  begin  to  supply  in- 
formation about  Pigs. 

Pinecoffin  answered  insanely  that  he  had 
written  everything  that  could  be  written  about 
Pig,  that  some  furlough  was  due  to  him. 

Nafferton  got  a  copy  of  that  letter,  and  sent 
it,  with  the  essay  on  the  Dravidian  Pig,  to  a 
down-country  paper  which  printed  both  in  full. 
The  essay  was  rather  high-flown;  but  if  the 
Editor  had  seen  the  stacks  of  paper,  in  Pine- 
coffin's  handwriting,  on  Nafferton's  table,  he 
would  not  have  been  so  sarcastic  about  the 
"nebulous  discursiveness  and  blatant  self-suf- 
ficiency of  the  modern  Competition-7ca//a/f, 
and  his  utter  inability  to  grasp  the  practical 


PIG  313 

issues  of  a  practical  question."  Many  friends 
cut  out  these  remarks  and  sent  them  to  Pine- 
coffin. 

I  have  already  stated  that  Pinecoffin  came  of 
a  soft  stock.  This  last  stroke  frightened  and 
shook  him.  He  could  not  understand  if;  but 
he  felt  that  he  had  been,  somehow,  shamelessly 
betrayed  by  Nafferton.  He  realized  that  he 
had  wrapped  himself  up  in  the  Pigskin  without 
need,  and  that  he  could  not  well  set  himself 
right  with  his  Government.  All  his  acquaint- 
ances asked  after  his  "nebulous  discursiveness" 
or  his  "blatant  self-sufficiency,"  and  this  made 
him  miserable. 

He  took  a  train  and  went  to  Nafferton, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  since  the  Pig  business 
began.  He  also  took  the  cutting  from  the  pa- 
per, and  blustered  feebly  and  called  Nafferton 
names,  and  then  died  down  to  a  watery,  weak 
protest  of  the  "I-say-it's-too-bad-you-know" 
order. 

Nafferton  was  very  sympathetic. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  given  you  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  haven't  I?"  said  he. 

"Trouble!"  whimpered  Pinecoffin;  "I  don't 
mind  the  trouble  so  much,  though  that  was 
bad  enough ;  but  what  I  resent  is  this  showing 
up  in  print.     It  will  stick  to  me  like  a  burr  all 


3i4  PIG 

through  my  service.  And  I  did  do  my  best  for 
your  interminable  swine.  It's  too  bad  of  you 
— on  my  soul  it  is !" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Nafferton.  "Have 
you  ever  been  stuck  with  a  horse  ?  It  isn't  the 
money  I  mind,  though  that  is  bad  enough; 
but  what  I  resent  is  the  chaff  that  follows,  es- 
pecially from  the  boy  who  stuck  me.  But  I 
think  we'll  cry  quits  now." 

Pinecofiin  found  nothing  to  say  save  bad 
words;  and  Nafferton  smiled  ever  so  sweetly, 
and  asked  him  to  dinner. 


THE  ROUT- OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 


It  was  not  in  the  open  fight 

We  threw  away  the  sword, 
But  in  the  lonely  watching 

In  the  darkness  by  the  ford. 
The  waters  lapped,  the  night-wind  blew, 
Full-armed  the  Fear  was  born  and  grew, 
And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 

From  panic  in  the  night. 

— Beoni  Bar. 


SOME  people  hold  that  an  English  Cavalry 
regiment  cannot  run.  This  is  a  mistake. 
I  have  seen  four  hundred  and  thirty-seven  sa- 
bres flying  over  the  face  of  the  country  in  ab- 
ject terror — have  seen  the  best  Regiment  that 
ever  drew  bridle  wiped  off  the  Army  List  for 
the  space  of  two  hours.  If  you  repeat  this  tale 
to  the  White  Hussars  they  will,  in  all  proba- 
bility, treat  you  severely.  They  are  not  proud 
of  the  incident. 

You  may  know  the  White  Hussars  by  their 
"side,"  which  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the 
Cavalry  Regiments  on  the  roster.     If  this  is 

317 


3i8  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

not  a  sufficient  mark,  you  may  know  them  by 
their  old  brandy.  It  has  been  sixty  years  in 
the  Mess  and  is  worth  going  far  to  taste.  Ask 
for  the  "McGaire"  old  brandy,  and  see  that 
you  get  it.  If  the  Mess  Sergeant  thinks  that 
you  are  uneducated,  and  that  the  genuine  ar- 
ticle will  be  lost  on  you,  he  will  treat  you  ac- 
cordingly. He  is  a  good  man.  But,  when  you 
are  at  Mess,  you  must  never  talk  to  your  hosts 
about  forced  marches  or  long-distance  rides. 
The  Mess  are  very  sensitive ;  and,  if  they  think 
that  you  are  laughing  at  them,  will  tell  you  so. 

As  the  White  Hussars  say,  it  was  all  the 
Colonel's  fault.  He  was  a  new  man,  and  he 
ought  never  to  have  taken  the  Command.  He 
said  that  the  Regiment  was  not  smart  enough. 
This  to  the  White  Hussars,  who  knew  that 
they  could  walk  around  any  Horse  and 
through  any  Guns,  and  over  any  Foot  on  the 
face  of  the  earth!  That  insult  was  the  first 
cause  of  offence. 

Then  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse — 
the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars !  Per- 
haps you  do  not  see  what  an  unspeakable 
crime  he  had  committed.  I  will  try  to  make  it 
clear.  The  soul  of  the  Regiment  lives  in  the 
Drum-Horse  who  carries  the  silver  kettle- 
drums.     He   is   nearly   always   a  big  piebald 


WHITE  HUSSARS  319 

Waler.  That  is  a  point  of  honor ;  and  a  Regi- 
ment will  spend  anything  you  please  on  a  pie- 
bald. He  is  beyond  the  ordinary  laws  of  cast- 
ing. His  work  is  very  light,  and  he  only  ma- 
nceuvres  at  a  footpace.  Wherefore,  so  long 
as  he  can  step  out  and  look  handsome,  his  well- 
being  is  assured.  He  knows  more  about  the 
Regiment  than  the  Adjutant,  and  could  not 
make  a  mistake  if  he  tried. 

The  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  was 
only  eighteen  years  old,  and  perfectly  equal  to 
his  duties.  He  had  at  least  six  years'  more 
work  in  him,  and  carried  himself  with  all  the 
pomp  and  dignity  of  a  Drum-Major  of  the 
Guards.  The  Regiment  had  paid  Rs.  1200  for 
him. 

But  the  Colonel  said  that  he  must  go,  and 
he  was  cast  in  due  form  and  replaced  by  a 
washy,  bay  beast,  as  ugly  as  a  mule,  with  a 
ewe-neck,  rat-tail,  and  cow-hocks.  The  Drum- 
mer detested  that  animal,  and  the  best  of  the 
Band-horses  put  back  their  ears  and  showed 
the  whites  of  their  eyes  at  the  very  sight  of 
him.  They  knew  him  for  an  upstart  and  no 
gentleman.  I  fancy  that  the  Colonel's  ideas 
of  smartness  extended  to  the  Band,  and  that 
he  wanted  to  make  it  take  part  in  the  regular 
parade  movements.     A  Cavalry  Band  is  a  sa- 


320  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

cred  thing.  It  only  turns  out  for  Command- 
ing Officers'  parades,  and  the  Band  Master  is 
one  degree  more  important  than  the  Colonel. 
He  is  a  High  Priest  and  the  "Keel  Row"  is 
his  holy  song.  The  "Keel  Row"  is  the  Cav- 
alry Trot;  and  the  man  who  has  never  heard 
that  tune  rising,  high  and  shrill,  above  the 
rattle  of  the  Regiment  going  past  the  saluting- 
base,  has  something  yet  to  hear  and  under- 
stand. 

When  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  of 
the  White  Hussars,  there  was  nearly  a  mutiny. 

The  officers  were  angry,  the  Regiment  were 
furious,  and  the  Bandsmen  swore — like  troop- 
ers. The  Drum-Horse  was  going  to  be  put  up 
to  auction — public  auction — to  be  bought,  per- 
haps, by  a  Parsee  and  put  into  a  cart!  It  was 
worse  than  exposing  the  inner  life  of  the  Regi- 
ment to  the  whole  world,  or  selling  the  Mess 
Plate  to  a  Jew — a  Black  Jew. 

The  Colonel  was  a  mean  man  and  a  bully. 
He  knew  what  the  Regiment  thought  about 
his  action;  and,  when  the  troopers  offered  to 
buy  the  Drum-Horse,  he  said  that  their  offer 
was  mutinous  and  forbidden  by  the  Regula- 
tions. 

But  one  of  the  Subalterns — Hogan-Yale,  an 
Irishman — bought   the   Drum-Horse    for    Rs. 


WHITE  HUSSARS  321 

160  at  the  sale,  and  the  Colonel  was  wroth. 
Yale  professed  repentance — he  was  unnatur- 
ally submissive — and  said  that,  as  he  had  only 
made  the  purchase  to  save  the  horse  from  pos- 
sible ill-treatment  and  starvation,  he  would 
now  shoot  him  and  end  the  business.  This  ap- 
peared to  soothe  the  Colonel,  for  he  wanted 
the  Drum-Horse  disposed  of.  He  felt  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake,  and  could  not  of  course 
acknowledge  it.  Meantime,  the  presence  of 
the  Drum-Horse  was  an  annoyance  to  him. 

Yale  took  to  himself  a  glass  of  old  brandy, 
three  cheroots,  and  his  friend  Martyn;  and 
they  all  left  the  Mess  together.  Yale  and  Mar- 
tyn conferred  for  two  hours  in  Yale's  quar- 
ters ;  but  only  the  bull-terrier  who  keeps  watch 
over  Yale's  boot-trees  knows  what  they  said. 
A  horse,  hooded  and  sheeted  to  his  ears,  left 
Yale's  stables  and  was  taken,  very  unwillingly, 
into  the  Civil  Lines.  Yale's  groom  went  with 
him.  Two  men  broke  into  the  Regimental 
Theatre  and  took  several  paint-pots  and  some 
large  scenery-brushes.  Then  night  fell  over 
the  Cantonments,  and  there  was  a  noise  as  of 
a  horse  kicking  his  loose-box  to  pieces  in 
Yale's  stables.  Yale  had  a  big,  old,  white 
Waler  trap-horse. 

The  next  day  was  a  Thursday,  and  the  men, 


322  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

hearing  that  Yale  was  going  to  shoot  the 
Drum-Horse  in  the  evening,  determined  to 
give  the  beast  a  regular  regimental  funeral — a 
finer  one  than  they  would  have  given  the 
Colonel  had  he  died  just  then.  They  got  a 
bullock-cart  and  some  sacking,  and  mounds 
and  mounds  of  roses,  and  the  body,  under 
sacking,  was  carried  out  to  the  place  where  the 
anthrax  cases  were  cremated;  two-thirds  of 
the  Regiment  following.  There  was  no  Band, 
but  they  all  sang  "The  Place  where  the  old 
Horse  died"  as  something  respectful  and  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion.  When  the  corpse 
was  dumped  into  the  grave  and  the  men  began 
throwing  down  armfuls  of  roses  to  cover  it, 
the  Farrier-Sergeant  ripped  out  an  oath  and 
said  aloud,  "Why,  it  ain't  the  Drum-Horse 
any  more  than  it's  me !"  The  Troop  Sergeant- 
Majors  asked  him  whether  he  had  left  his 
head  in  the  Canteen.  The  Farrier-Sergeant 
said  that  he  knew  the  Drum-Horse's  feet  as 
well  as  he  knew  his  own;  but  he  was  silenced 
when  he  saw  the  regimental  number  burned  in 
on  the  poor  stiff,  upturned  near-fore. 

Thus  was  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White 
Hussars  buried;  the  Farrier-Sergeant  grum- 
bling. The  sacking  that  covered  the  corpse 
was  smeared  in  places  with  black  paint;  and 


WHITE  HUSSARS  323 

the  Farrier-Sergeant  drew  attention  to  this 
fact.  But  the  Troop-Sergeant-Major  of  E 
Troop  kicked  him  severely  on  the  shin,  and 
told  him  that  he  was  undoubtedly  drunk. 

On  the  Monday  following  the  burial,  the 
Colonel  sought  revenge  on  the  White  Hussars. 
Unfortunately,  being  at  that  time  temporarily 
in  Command  of  the  Station,  he  ordered  a  Brig- 
ade field-day.  He  said  that  he  wished  to  make 
the  Regiment  "sweat  for  their  damned  inso- 
lence," and  he  carried  out  his  notion  thor- 
oughly. That  Monday  was  one  of  the  hard- 
est days  in  the  memory  of  the  White  Hussars. 
They  were  thrown  against  a  skeleton-enemy, 
and  pushed  forward,  and  withdrawn,  and  dis- 
mounted, and  "scientifically  handled"  in  every 
possible  fashion  over  dust)'  country,  till  they 
sweated  profusely.  Their  only  amusement 
came  late  in  the  day  when  they  fell  upon  the 
battery  of  Horse  Artillery  and  chased  it  for 
two  miles.  This  was  a  personal  question,  and 
most  of  the  troopers  had  money  on  the  event ; 
the  Gunners  saying  openly  that  they  had  the 
legs  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were  wrong. 
A  march-past  concluded  the  campaign,  and 
when  the  Regiment  got  back  to  their  Lines, 
the  men  were  coated  with  dirt  from  spur  to 
chin-strap. 


324  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

The  White  Hussars  have  one  great  and  pe- 
culiar privilege.  They  won  it  at  Fontenoy,  I 
think. 

Many  Regiments  possess  special  rights  such 
as  wearing  collars  with  undress  uniform,  or  a 
bow  of  riband  between  the  shoulders,  or  red 
and  white  roses  in  their  helmets  on  certain 
days  of  the  year.  Some  rights  are  connected 
with  regimental  saints,  and  some  with  regi- 
mental successes.  All  are  valued  highly;  but 
none  so  highly  as  the  right  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars to  have  the  Band  playing  when  their 
horses  are  being  watered  in  the  Lines.  Only 
one  tune  is  played,  and  that  tune  never  varies. 
I  don't  know  its  real  name,  but  the  White  Hus- 
sars call  it,  "Take  me  to  London  again."  It 
sounds  very  pretty.  The  Regiment  would 
sooner  be  struck  off  the  roster  than  forego 
their  distinction. 

After  the  "dismiss"  was  sounded,  the  offi- 
cers rode  off  home  to  prepare  for  stables ;  and 
the  men  filed  into  the  lines  riding  easy.  That 
is  to  say,  they  opened  their  tight  buttons, 
shifted  their  helmets,  and  began  to  joke  or  to 
swear  as  the  humor  took  them ;  the  more  care- 
ful slipping  off  and  easing  girths  and  curbs. 
A  good  trooper  values  his  mount  exactly  as 
much  as  he  values  himself,  and  believes,  or 


WHITE  HUSSARS  325 

should  believe,  that  the  two  together  are  irre- 
sistible where  women  or  men,  girls  or  guns, 
are  concerned. 

Then  the  Orderly-Officer  gave  the  order, 
"Water  horses,"  and  the  Regiment  loafed  off 
to  the  squadron-troughs  which  were  in  rear  of 
the  stables  and  between  these  and  the  barracks. 
There  were  four  huge  troughs,  one  for  each 
squadron,  arranged  en  echelon,  so  that  the 
whole  Regiment  could  water  in  ten  minutes  if 
it  liked.  But  it  lingered  for  seventeen,  as  a 
rule,  while  the  Band  played. 

The  Band  struck  up  as  the  squadrons  filed 
off  to  the  troughs,  and  the  men  slipped  their 
feet  out  of  the  stirrups  and  chaffed  each  other. 
The  sun  was  just  setting  in  a  big,  hot  bed  of 
red  cloud,  and  the  road  to  the  Civil  Lines 
seemed  to  run  straight  into  the  sun's  eye. 
There  was  a  little  dot  on  the  road.  It  grew 
and  grew  till  it  showed  as  a  horse,  with  a  sort 
of  gridiron-thing  on  his  back.  The  red  cloud 
glared  through  the  bars  of  the  gridiron.  Some 
of  the  troopers  shaded  their  eyes  with  their 
hands  and  said — "What  the  mischief  'as  that 
there  'orse  got  on  'im?" 

In  another  minute  they  heard  a  neigh  that 
every  soul — horse  and  man — in  the  Regiment 
knew,  and  saw,  heading  straight  toward  the 


326  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

Band,  the  dead  Drum-Horse  of  the  White 
Hussars ! 

On  his  withers  banged  and  bumped  the  ket- 
tle-drums draped  in  crape,  and  on  his  back, 
stiff  and  soldierly,  sat  a  bareheaded  skeleton. 

The  Band  stopped  playing,  and,  for  a  mo- 
ment, there  was  a  hush. 

Then  some  one  in  E  Troop — men  said  it 
was  the  Troop-Sergeant-Major — swung  his 
horse  round  and  yelled.  No  one  can  account 
exactly  for  what  happened  afterward;  but  it 
seems  that,  at  least,  one  man  in  each  troop  set 
an  example  of  panic,  and  the  rest  followed  like 
sheep.  The  horses  that  had  barely  put  their 
muzzles  into  the  troughs  reared  and  capered? 
but  as  soon  as  the  Band  broke,  which  it  did 
when  the  ghost  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  about 
a  furlong  distant,  all  hooves  followed  suit,  and 
the  clatter  of  the  stampede — quite  different 
from  the  orderly  throb  and  roar  of  a  move- 
ment on  parade,  or  the  rough  horse-play  of 
watering  in  camp — made  them  only  more  ter- 
rified. They  felt  that  the  men  on  their  backs 
were  afraid  of  something.  When  horses  once 
know  that,  all  is  over  except  the  butchery. 

Troop  after  troop  turned  from  the  troughs 
and  ran — anywhere  and  everywhere — like 
spilled  quicksilver.     It  was  a  most  extraordin- 


WHITE  HUSSARS  327 

ary  spectacle,  for  men  and  horses  were  in  all 
stages  of  easiness,  and  the  carbine-buckets 
flopping  against  their  sides  urged  the  horses 
on.  Men  were  shouting  and  cursing,  and  try- 
ing to  pull  clear  of  the  Band  which  was  being 
chased  by  the  Drum-Horse  whose  rider  had 
fallen  forward  and  seemed  to  be  spurring  for 
a  wager. 

The  Colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  Mess  for 
a  drink.  Most  of  the  officers  were  with  him, 
and  the  Subaltern  of  the  Day  was  preparing 
to  go  down  to  the  lines,  and  receive  the  water- 
ing reports  from  the  Troop-Sergeant-Majors. 
When  "Take  me  to  London  again"  stopped, 
after  twenty  bars,  every  one  in  the  Mess  said, 
"What  on  earth  has  happened?"  A  minute 
later,  they  heard  unmilitary  noises,  and  saw, 
far  across  the  plain,  the  White  Hussars  scat- 
tered, and  broken,  and  flying. 

The  Colonel  was  speechless  with  rage,  for 
he  thought  that  the  Regiment  had  risen 
against  him  or  was  unanimously  drunk.  The 
Band,  a  disorganized  mob,  tore  past,  and  at  its 
heels  labored  the  Drum-Horse — the  dead  and 
buried  Drum-Horse — with  the  jolting,  clatter- 
ing skeleton.  Hogan-Yale  whispered  to  Mar- 
tyn — "No  wire  will  stand  that  treatment,"  and 
the  Band,  which  had  doubled  like  a  hare,  came 


328  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

back  again.  But  the  rest  of  the  Regiment  was 
gone,  was  rioting  all  over  the  Province,  for  the 
dusk  had  shut  in  and  each  man  was  howling 
to  his  neighbor  that  the  Drum-Horse  was  on 
his  flank.  Troop-horses  are  far  too  tenderly 
treated  as  a  rule.  They  can,  on  emergencies, 
do  a  great  deal,  even  with  seventeen  stone  on 
their  backs.     As  the  troopers  found  out. 

How  long  this  panic  lasted  I  cannot  say.  I 
believe  that  when  the  moon  rose  the  men  saw 
they  had  nothing  to  fear,  and,  by  twos  and 
threes  and  half-troops,  crept  back  into  Can- 
tonments very  much  ashamed  of  themselves. 
Meantime,  the  Drum-Horse,  disgusted  at  his 
treatment  by  old  friends,  pulled  up,  wheeled 
round,  and  trotted  up  to  the  Mess  veranda- 
steps  for  bread.  No  one  liked  to  run;  but  no 
one  cared  to  go  forward  till  the  Colonel  made 
a  movement  and  laid  hold  of  the  skeleton's 
foot.  The  Band  had  halted  some  distance 
away,  and  now  came  back  slowly.  The 
Colonel  called  it,  individually  and  collectively, 
every  evil  name  that  occurred  to  him  at  the 
time ;  for  he  had  set  his  hand  on  the  bosom  of 
the  Drum-Horse  and  found  flesh  and  blood. 
Then  he  beat  the  kettle-drums  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  discovered  that  they  were 
but  made  of  silvered  paper  and  bamboo.   Next, 


WHITE  HUSSARS  329 

still  swearing,  he  tried  to  drag  the  skeleton  out 
of  the  saddle,  but  found  that  it  had  been  wired 
into  the  cantle.  The  sight  of  the  Colonel,  with 
his  arms  round  the  skeleton's  pelvis  and  his 
knee  in  the  old  Drum-Horse's  stomach,  was 
striking.  Not  to  say  amusing.  He  worried 
the  thing  off  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  threw  it 
down  on  the  ground,  saying  to  the  Band — 
"Here,  you  curs,  that's  what  you're  afraid  of." 
The  skeleton  did  not  look  pretty  in  the  twi- 
light. The  Band-Sergeant  seemed  to  recog- 
nize it,  for  he  began  to  chuckle  and  choke. 
"Shall  I  take  it  away,  sir?"  said  the  Band- 
Sergeant.  "Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  "take  it  to 
Hell,  and  ride  there  yourselves!" 

The  Band-Sergeant  saluted,  hoisted  the 
skeleton  across  his  saddle-bow,  and  led  off  to 
the  stables.  Then  the  Colonel  began  to  make 
inquiries  for  the  rest  of  the  Regiment,  and  the 
language  he  used  was  wonderful.  He  would 
disband  the  Regiment — he  would  court-mar- 
tial every  soul  in  it — he  would  not  command 
such  a  set  of  rabble,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  As 
the  men  dropped  in,  his  language  grew  wilder, 
until  at  last  it  exceeded  the  utmost  limits  of 
free  speech  allowed  even  to  a  Colonel  of 
Horse. 

Martyn   took   Hogan-Yale   aside   and   sug- 


330  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

gested  compulsory  retirement  from  the  Service 
as  a  necessity  when  all  was  discovered.  Mar- 
tyn  was  the  weaker  man  of  the  two.  Hogan- 
Yale  put  up  his  eyebrows  and  remarked, 
firstly,  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  Lord,  and,  sec- 
ondly, that  he  was  as  innocent  as  the  babe  un- 
born of  the  theatrical  resurrection  of  the 
Drum-Horse. 

"My  instructions,"  said  Yale,  with  a  singu- 
larly sweet  smile,  "were  that  the  Drum-Horse 
should  be  sent  back  as  impressively  as  possible. 
I  ask  you,  am  I  responsible  if  a  mule-headed 
friend  sends  him  back  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  a  regiment  of  Her 
Majesty's  Cavalry?" 

Martyn  said,  "You  are  a  great  man,  and 
will  in  time  become  a  General ;  but  I'd  give  my 
chance  of  a  troop  to  be  safe  out  of  this  affair." 

Providence  saved  Martyn  and  Hogan-Yale. 
The  Second-in-Command  led  the  Colonel 
away  to  the  little  curtained  alcove  wherein  the 
Subalterns  of  the  White  Hussars  were  accus- 
tomed to  play  poker  of  nights ;  and  there,  after 
many  oaths  on  the  Colonel's  part,  they  talked 
together  in  low  tones.  I  fancy  that  the  Sec- 
ond-in-Command must  have  represented  the 
scare  as  the  work  of  some  trooper  whom  it 
would  be  hopeless  to  detect;  and  I  know  that 


WHITE  HUSSARS  331 

he  dwelt  upon  the  sin  and  the  shame  of  mak- 
ing a  public  laughing-stock  of  the  scare. 

"They  will  call  us,"  said  the  Second-in- 
Command,  who  had  really  a  fine  imagination 
— "they  will  call  us  the  'Fly-by-Nights' ;  they 
will  call  us  the  'Ghost  Hunters' ;  they  will 
nickname  us  from  one  end  of  the  Army  List  to 
the  other.  All  the  explanation  in  the  world 
won't  make  outsiders  understand  that  the  offi- 
cers were  away  when  the  panic  began.  For 
the  honor  of  the  Regiment  and  for  your  own 
sake  keep  this  thing  quiet." 

The  Colonel  was  so  exhausted  with  anger 
that  soothing  him  down  was  not  so  difficult  as 
might  be  imagined.  He  was  made  to  see, 
gently  and  by  degrees,  that  it  was  obviously 
impossible  to  court-martial  the  whole  Regi- 
ment and  equally  impossible  to  proceed  against 
any  subaltern  who,  in  his  belief,  had  any  con- 
cern in  the  hoax. 

"But  the  beast's  alive!  He's  never  been 
shot  at  all!"  shouted  the  Colonel.  "It's  flat 
flagrant  disobedience!  I've  known  a  man 
broke  for  less — dam  sight  less.  They're  mock- 
ing me,  I  tell  you,  Mutman!  They're  mock- 
ing me !" 

Once  more,  the  Second-in-Command  set 
himself  to  soothe  the   Colonel,   and  wrestled 


332  THE  ROUT  OF  THE 

with  him  for  half  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  the  Regimental  Sergeant-Major  re- 
ported himself.  The  situation  was  rather 
novel  to  him;  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  put 
out  by  circumstances.  He  saluted  and  said, 
"Regiment  all  come  back,  Sir."  Then,  to  pro- 
pitiate the  Colonel — "An'  none  of  the  'orses 
any  the  worse,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  only  snorted  and  answered — 
"You'd  better  tuck  the  men  into  their  cots, 
then,  and  see  that  they  don't  wake  up  and  cry 
in  the  night."     The  Sergeant  withdrew. 

His  little  stroke  of  humor  pleased  the 
Colonel,  and,  further,  he  felt  slighly  ashamed 
of  the  language  he  had  been  using.  The  Sec- 
ond-in-Command  worried  him  again,  and  the 
two  sat  talking  far  into  the  night. 

Next  day  but  one,  there  was  a  Command- 
ing Officer's  parade,  and  the  Colonel  har- 
angued the  White  Hussars  vigorously.  The 
pith  of  his  speech  was  that,  since  the  Drum- 
Horse  in  his  old  age  had  proved  himself  ca- 
pable of  cutting  up  the  whole  Regiment,  he 
should  return  to  his  post  of  pride  at  the  head 
of  the  Band,  but  the  Regiment  were  a  set  of 
ruffians  with  bad  consciences. 

The  White  Hussars  shouted,  and  threw 
everything  movable  about  them  into  the  air, 


WHITE  HUSSARS  333 

and  when  the  parade  was  over,  they  cheered 
the  Colonel  till  they  couldn't  speak.  No  cheers 
were  put  up  for  Lieutenant  Hogan-Yale,  who 
smiled  very  sweetly  in  the  background. 

Said  the  Second-in-Command  to  the  Col- 
onel, unofficially — 

"These  little  things  ensure  popularity,  and 
do  not  the  least  affect  discipline." 

"But  I  went  back  on  my  word,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Second-in-Com- 
mand. "The  White  Hussars  will  follow  you 
anywhere  from  to-day.  Regiments  are  just 
like  women.  They  will  do  anything  for  trink- 
etry." 

A  week  later,  Hogan-Yale  received  an  ex- 
traordinary letter  from  some  one  who  signed 
himself  "Secretary,  Charity  and  Zeal,  3709, 
E.  C,"  and  asked  for  "the  return  of  our  skele- 
ton which  we  have  reason  to  believe  is  in  your 
possession." 

"Who  the  deuce  is  this  lunatic  who  trades 
in  bones?"   said  Hogan-Yale. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  the  Band-Ser- 
geant, "but  the  skeleton  is  with  me,  an'  I'll  re- 
turn it  if  you'll  pay  the  carriage  into  the  Civil 
Lines.     There's  a  coffin  with  it,  Sir." 

Hogan-Yale  smiled  and  handed  two  rupees 


334  WHITE  HUSSARS 

to  the  Band-Sergeant,  saying,  "Write  the 
date  on  the  skull,  will  you?" 

If  you  doubt  this  story,  and  know  where  to 
go,  you  can  see  the  date  on  the  skeleton.  But 
don't  mention  the  matter  to  the  White  Hus- 
sars. 

I  happened  to  know  something  about  it,  be- 
cause I  prepared  the  Drum-Horse  for  his  res- 
urrection. He  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  skele- 
ton at  all. 


THE   BRONCKHORST   DIVORCE-CASE 


THE   BRONCKHORST   DIVORCE-CASE 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 

In  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side, — 
I  was  wearied,  I  was  wearied  of  her  presence, 
Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I  grew  to  hate  her — 
Would  God  that  she  or  I  had  died ! 

— Confessions. 

THERE  was  a  man  called  Bronckhorst — a 
three-cornered,  middle-aged  man  in  the 
Army — grey  as  a  badger,  and,  some  people 
said,  with  a  touch  of  country-blood  in  him. 
That,  however,  cannot  be  proved.  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  was  not  exactly  young,  though  fif- 
teen years  younger  than  her  husband.  She 
was  a  large,  pale,  quiet  woman,  with  heavy 
eyelids  over  weak  eyes,  and  hair  that  turned 
red  or  yellow  as  the  lights  fell  on  it. 

Bronckhorst  was  not  nice  in  any  way.  He 
had  no  respect  for  the  pretty  public  and  private 
lies  that  make  life  a  little  less  nasty  than  it  is. 
His  manner  toward  his  wife  was  coarse.  There 
are  many  things — including  actual  assault 
337 


338  THE  BRONCKHORST 

with  the  clenched  fist — that  a  wife  will  en- 
dure; but  seldom  a  wife  can  bear — as  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  bore — with  a  long  course  of 
brutal,  hard  chaff,  making  light  of  her  weak- 
nesses, her  headaches,  her  small  fits  of  gaiety, 
her  dresses,  her  queer  little  attempts  to  make 
herself  attractive  to  her  husband  when  she 
knows  that  she  is  not  what  she  has  been,  and 
— worst  of  all — the  love  that  she  spends  on 
her  children.  That  particular  sort  of  heavy- 
handed  jest  was  specially  dear  to  Bronckhorst. 
I  suppose  that  he  had  first  slipped  into  it, 
meaning  no  harm,  in  the  honeymoon,  when 
folk  find  their  ordinary  stock  of  endearments 
run  short,  and  so  go  to  the  other  extreme  to 
express  their  feelings.  A  similar  impulse 
makes  a  man  say,  "Hutt,  you  old  beast!" 
when  a  favorite  horse  nuzzles  his  coat-front. 
Unluckily,  when  the  reaction  of  marriage  sets 
in,  the  form  of  speech  remains,  and,  the  ten- 
derness having  died  out,  hurts  the  wife  more 
than  she  cares  to  say.  But  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
was  devoted  to  her  "Teddy"  as  she  called  him. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  he  objected  to  her. 
Perhaps — this  is  only  a  theory  to  account  for 
his  infamous  behavior  later  on — he  gave  way 
to  the  queer,  savage  feeling  that  sometimes 
takes  by  the  throat  a  husband  twenty  years 
married,  when  he  sees,  across  the  table,  the 


DIVORCE-CASE  339 

same  same  face  of  his  wedded  wife,  and 
knows  that,  as  he  has  sat  facing  it,  so  must 
he  continue  to  sit  until  the  day  of  its  death  or 
his  own.  Most  men  and  all  women  know  the 
spasm.  It  only  lasts  for  three  breaths  as  a 
rule,  must  be  a  "throw-back"  to  times  when 
men  and  women  were  rather  worse  than  they 
are  now,  and  is  too  unpleasant  to  be  discussed. 
Dinner  at  the  Bronckhorsts'  was  an  inflic- 
tion few  men  cared  to  undergo.  Bronckhorst 
took  a  pleasure  in  saying  things  that  made  his 
wife  wince.  When  their  little  boy  came  in 
at  dessert,  Bronckhorst  used  to  give  him  half 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  naturally  enough,  the 
poor  little  mite  got  first  riotous,  next  mis- 
erable, and  was  removed  screaming.  Bronck- 
horst asked  if  that  was  the  way  Teddy  usually 
behaved,  and  whether  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  could 
not  spare  some  of  her  time  "to  teach  the  little 
beggar  decency."  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  who 
loved  the  boy  more  than  her  own  life,  tried 
not  to  cry — her  spirit  seemed  to  have  been 
broken  by  her  marriage.  Lastly,  Bronckhorst 
used  to  say,  "There!  That'll  do,  that'll  do. 
For  God's  sake  try  to  behave  like  a  rational 
woman.  Go  into  the  drawing-room."  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  would  go,  trying  to  carry  it  all 
off  with  a  smile;  and  the  guest  of  the  evening 
would  feel  angry  and  uncomfortable. 


340  THE  BRONCKHORST 

After  three  years  of  this  cheerful  life — for 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst  had  no  women-friends  to 
talk  to — the  Station  was  startled  by  the  news 
that  Bronckhorst  had  instituted  proceeding's 
on  the  criminal  count,  against  a  man  called 
Biel,  who  certainly  had  been  rather  attentive 
to  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  whenever  she  had  ap- 
peared in  public.  The  utter  want  of  reserve 
with  which  Bronckhorst  treated  his  own  dis- 
honor helped  us  to  know  that  the  evidence 
against  Biel  would  be  entirely  circumstantial 
and  native.  There  were  no  letters;  but 
Bronckhorst  said  openly  that  he  would  rack 
Heaven  and  Earth  until  he  saw  Biel  superin- 
tending the  manufacture  of  carpets  in  the  Cen- 
tral Jail.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  kept  entirely  to 
her  house,  and  let  charitable  folks  say  what 
they  pleased.  Opinions  were  divided.  Some 
two-thirds  of  the  Station  jumped  at  once  to 
the  conclusion  that  Biel  was  guilty;  but  a 
dozen  men  who  knew  and  liked  him  held  by 
him.  Biel  was  furious  and  surprised.  He 
denied  the  whole  thing,  and  vowed  that  he 
would  thrash  Bronckhorst  within  an  inch  of 
his  life.  No  jury,  we  knew,  would  convict  a 
man  on  the  criminal  count  on  native  evidence 
in  a  land  where  you  can  buy  a  murder-charge, 
including  the  corpse,   all   complete   for  fifty- 


DIVORCE-CASE  341 

four  rupees;  but  Biel  did  not  care  to  scrape 
through  by  the  benefit  of  a  doubt.  He  wanted 
the  whole  thing  cleared;  but,  as  he  said  one 
night — "He  can  prove  anything  with  servants' 
evidence,  and  I've  only  my  bare  word."  This 
was  almost  a  month  before  the  case  came  on; 
and  beyond  agreeing  with  Biel,  we  could  do 
little.  All  that  we  could  be  sure  of  was  that 
the  native  evidence  would  be  bad  enough  to 
blast  Biel's  character  for  the  rest  of  his  ser- 
vice; for  when  a  native  begins  perjury  he  per- 
jures himself  thoroughly.  He  does  not  boggle 
over  details. 

Some  genius  at  the  end  of  the  table  whereat 
the  affair  was  being  talked  over,  said,  "Look 
here!  I  don't  believe  lawyers  are  any  good. 
Get  a  man  to  wire  to  Strickland,  and  beg  him 
to  come  down  and  pull  us  through." 

Strickland  was  about  a  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  up  the  line.  He  had  not  long  been  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Youghal,  but  he  scented  in  the 
telegram  a  chance  of  return  to  the  old  de- 
tective work  that  his  soul  lusted  after,  and 
next  night  he  came  in  and  heard  our  story. 
He  finished  his  pipe  and  said  oracularly,  "We 
must  get  at  the  evidence.  Oorya  bearer,  Mus- 
sulman khit  and  sweeper  ayah,  I  suppose,  are 
the  pillars  of  the  charge.     I  am  on  in  this 


342  THE  BRONCKHORST 

piece;  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  rusty  in  my 
talk." 

He  rose  and  went  into  Biel's  bedroom, 
where  his  trunk  had  been  put,  and  shut  the 
door.  An  hour  later,  we  heard  him  say,  "I 
hadn't  the  heart  to  part  with  my  old  make- 
ups when  I  married.  Will  this  do?"  There 
was  a  lothely  faquir  salaaming  in  the  door- 
way. 

"Now  lend  me  fifty  rupees,"  said  Strick- 
land, "and  give  me  your  Words  of  Honor  that 
you  won't  tell  my  wife." 

He  got  all  that  he  asked  for,  and  left  the 
house  while  the  table  drank  his  health.  What 
he  did  only  he  himself  knows.  A  faquir  hung 
about  Bronckhorst's  compound  for  twelve 
days.  Then  a  sweeper  appeared,  and  when 
Biel  heard  of  him,  he  said  that  Strickland  was 
an  angel  full-fledged.  Whether  the  sweeper 
made  love  to  Janki,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst's  ayah, 
is  a  question  which  concerns  Strickland  ex- 
clusively. 

He  came  back  at  the  end  of  three  weeks, 
and  said,  quietly,  "You  spoke  the  truth,  Biel. 
The  whole  business  is  put  up  from  beginning 
to  end.  'Jove!  It  almost  astonishes  me! 
That  Bronckhorst-beast  isn't  fit  to  live." 

There  was  uproar  and  shouting,  and  Biel 


DIVORCE-CASE  343 

said,  "How  are  you  going  to  prove  it?  You 
can't  say  that  you've  been  trespassing  on 
Bronckhorst's  compound  in  disguise!" 

"No,"  said  Strickland.  "Tell  your  lawyer- 
fool,  whoever  he  is,  to  get  up  something  strong 
about  'inherent  improbabilities'  and  'discrep- 
ancies of  evidence.'  He  won't  have  to  speak, 
but  it  will  make  him  happy.  I'm  going  to  run 
this  business." 

Biel  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other  men 
waited  to  see  what  would  happen.  They  trust- 
ed Strickland  as  men  trust  quiet  men.  When 
the  case  came  off  the  Court  was  crowded. 
Strickland  hung  about  in  the  veranda  of  the 
Court,  till  he  met  the  Mohammedan  khitmat- 
gar.  Then  he  murmured  a  faquir's  blessing  in 
his  ear,  and  asked  him  how  his  second  wife 
did.  The  man  spun  round,  and,  as  he  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  "Estreeken  Sahib,"  his  jaw 
dropped.  You  must  remember  that  before 
Strickland  was  married,  he  was,  as  I  have  told 
you  already,  a  power  among  natives.  Strick- 
land whispered  a  rather  coarse  vernacular 
proverb  to  the  effect  that  he  was  abreast  of 
all  that  was  going  on  and  went  into  the  Court 
armed  with  a  gut  trainer's-whip. 

The  Mohammedan  was  the  first  witness  and 
Strickland  beamed  upon  him  from  the  back 


344  THE  BRONCKHORST 

of  the  Court.  The  man  moistened  his  lips 
with  his  tongue  and,  in  his  abject  fear  of 
"Estreeken  Sahib"  the  faquir  went  back  on 
every  detail  of  his  evidence — said  he  was  a 
poor  man  and  God  was  his  witness  that  he  had 
forgotten  everything  that  Bronckhorst  Sahib 
had  told  him  to  say.  Between  his  terror  of 
Strickland,  the  Judge,  and  Bronckhorst  he 
collapsed  weeping. 

Then  began  the  panic  among  the  witnesses. 
Janki,  the  ayah,  leering  chastely  behind  her 
veil,  turned  grey,  and  the  bearer  left  the 
Court.  He  said  that  his  Mamma  was  dying 
and  that  it  was  not  wholesome  for  any  man 
to  lie  unthriftily  in  the  presence  of  "Estreeken 
Sahib." 

Biel  said  politely  to  Bronckhorst,  "Your 
witnesses  don't  seem  to  work.  Haven't  you 
any  forged  letters  to  produce?"  But  Bronck- 
horst was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  his  chair,  and 
there  was  a  dead  pause  after  Biel  had  been 
called  to  order. 

Bronckhorst's  Counsel  saw  the  look  on  his 
client's  face,  and  without  more  ado,  pitched 
his  papers  on  the  little  green  baize  table  and 
mumbled  something  about  having  been  mis- 
informed. The  whole  court  applauded  wildly, 
like  soldiers  at  a  theatre,  and  the  Judge  began 
to  say  what  he  thought. 


DIVORCE-CASE  345 

s|c  *  *  *  *  * 

Biel  came  out  of  the  court,  and  Strickland 
dropped  a  gut  trainer's-whip  in  the  veranda. 
Ten  minutes  later,  Biel  was  cutting  Bronck- 
horst  into  ribbons  behind  the  old  Court  cells, 
quietly  and  without  scandal.  What  was  left  of 
Bronckhorst  was  sent  home  in  a  carriage;  and 
his  wife  wept  over  it  and  nursed  it  into  a  man 
again. 

Later  on,  after  Biel  had  managed  to  hush 
up  the  counter-charge  against  Bronckhorst  of 
fabricating  false  evidence,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst, 
with  her  faint,  watery  smile,  said  that  there 
had  been  a  mistake,  but  it  wasn't  her  Teddy's 
fault  altogether.  She  would  wait  till  her 
Teddy  came  back  to  her.  Perhaps  he  had 
grown  tired  of  her,  or  she  had  tried  his 
patience,  and  perhaps  we  wouldn't  cut  her  any 
more,  and  perhaps  the  mothers  would  let  their 
children  play  with  "little  Teddy"  again.  He 
was  so  lonely.  Then  the  Station  invited  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  everywhere,  until  Bronckhorst 
was  fit  to  appear  in  public,  when  he  went 
Home  and  took  his  wife  with  him.  According 
to  latest  advices,  her  Teddy  did  come  back  to 
her,  and  they  are  moderately  happy.  Though, 
of  course,  he  can  never  forgive  her  the  thrash- 


346  THE  BRONCKHORST 

ing  that  she  was  the  indirect  means  of  getting 
for  him. 


What  Biel  wants  to  know  is,  "Why  didn't 
I  press  home  the  charge  against  the  Bronck- 
horst-brute,  and  have  him  run  in?" 

What  Mrs.  Strickland  wants  to  know  is, 
"How  did  my  husband  bring  such  a  lovely, 
lovely  Waler  from  your  Station?  I  know  all 
his  money-affairs;  and  I'm  certain  he  didn't 
buy  it." 

What  I  want  to  know  is,  "How  do  women 
like  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  come  to  marry  men 
like  Bronckhorst?" 

And  my  conundrum  is  the  most  un- 
answerable of  the  three. 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI 


VENUS    ANNODOMINI 

And  the  years  went  on,  as  the  years  must  do; 
But  our  great  Diana  was  always  new- 
Fresh,  and  blooming,  and  blonde,  and  fair, 
With  azure  eyes  and  with  aureate  hair ; 
And  all  the  folk,  as  they  came  or  went, 
Offered  her  praise  to  her  heart's  content. 

— Diana  of  Ephesus. 

SHE  had  nothing  to  do  with  Number  Eigh- 
teen in  the  Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican, 
between  Visconti's  Ceres  and  the  God  of  the 
Nile.  She  was  purely  an  Indian  deity — an 
Anglo-Indian  deity,  that  is  to  say — and  we 
called  her  the  Venus  Annodomini,  to  distin- 
guish her  from  other  Annodominis  of  the  same 
everlasting  order.  There  was  a  legend  among 
the  Hills  that  she  had  once  been  young;  but  no 
living  man  was  prepared  to  come  forward  and 
say  boldly  that  the  legend  was  true.  Men  rode 
up  to  Simla,  and  stayed,  and  went  away  and 
made  their  name  and  did  their  life's  work,  and 
returned  again  to  find  the  Venus  Annodomini 
exactly  as  they  had  left  her.  She  was  as  im- 
349 


350  VENUS  ANN0D0MINI 

mutable  as  the  Hills.     But  not  quite  so  green. 
All  that  a  girl  of  eighteen  could  do  in  the  way 
of   riding,    walking,    dancing,    picnicking   and 
over-exertion  generally,  the  Venus  Annodom- 
ini  did,  and  showed  no  sign  of  fatigue  or  trace 
of   weariness.      Besides   perpetual   youth,   she 
had  discovered,  men  said,  the  secret  of  per- 
petual health;  and  her  fame  spread  about  the 
land.     From  a  mere  woman,  she  grew  to  be 
an  Institution,  insomuch  that  no  young  man 
could  be  said  to  be  properly  formed,  who  had 
not,  at  some  time  or  another,  worshipped  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.     There 
was  no  one  like  her,  though  there  were  many 
imitations.      Six   years   in  her   eyes   were   no 
more  than  six  months  to  ordinary  women ;  and 
ten  made  less  visible  impression  on  her  than 
does  a  week's  fever  on  an  ordinary  woman. 
Every  one  adored  her,  and  in  return  she  was 
pleasant   and   courteous  to   nearly  every  one. 
Youth  had  been  a  habit  of  hers  for  so  long, 
that  she  could  not  part  with  it — never  realized, 
in  fact,  the  necessity  of  parting  with  it — and 
took   for   her   more   chosen   associates   young 
people. 

Among  the  worshippers  of  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini was  young  Gayerson.  "Very  Young 
Gayerson"  he  was  called  to  distinguish  him 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI  351 

from  his  father  "Young"'  Gayerson,  a  Bengal 
Civilian,  who  affected  the  customs — as  he  had 
the  heart — of  youth.  "Very  Young"  Gayer- 
son  was  not  content  to  worship  placidly  and 
for  form's  sake,  as  the  other  young  men  did, 
or  to  accept  a  ride  or  a  dance,  or  a  talk  from 
the  Venus  Annodomini  in  a  properly  humble 
and  thankful  spirit.  He  was  exacting,  and, 
therefore,  the  Venus  Annodomini  repressed 
him.  He  worried  himself  nearly  sick  in  a 
futile  sort  of  way  over  her;  and  his  devotion 
and  earnestness  made  him  appear  either  shy  or 
boisterous  or  rude,  as  his  mood  might  vary, 
by  the  side  of  the  older  men  who,  with  him, 
bowed  before  the  Venus  Annodomini.  She 
was  sorry  for  him.  He  reminded  her  of  a 
lad  who,  three-and-twenty  years  ago,  had  pro- 
fessed a  boundless  devotion  for  her,  and  for 
whom  in  return  she  had  felt  something  more 
than  a  week's  weakness.  But  that  lad  had 
fallen  away  and  married  another  woman  less 
than  a  year  after  he  had  worshipped  her;  and 
the  Venus  Annodomini  had  almost — not 
quite — forgotten  his  name.  "Very  Young" 
Gayerson  had  the  same  big  blue  eyes  and  the 
same  way  of  pouting  his  underlip  when  he 
was  excited  or  troubled.  But  the  Venus  An- 
nodomini checked  him  sternly  none  the  less. 


352  VENUS  ANNODOMINI 

Too  much  zeal  was  a  thing  that  she  did  not 
approve  of ;  preferring  instead,  a  tempered  and 
sober  tenderness. 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson  was  miserable, 
and  took  no  trouble  to  conceal  his  wretched- 
ness. He  was  in  the  Army — a  Line  regiment 
I  think,  but  am  not  certain — and,  since  his 
face  was  a  looking-glass  and  his  forehead  an 
open  book,  by  reason  of  his  innocence,  his 
brothers-in-arms  made  his  life  a  burden  to 
him  and  embittered  his  naturally  sweet  disposi- 
tion. No  one  except  "Very  Young"  Gayerson, 
and  he  never  told  his  views,  knew  how  old 
"Very  Young"  Gayerson  believed  the  Venus 
Annodomini  to  be.  Perhaps  he  thought  her 
five-and-twenty,  or  perhaps  she  told  him  that 
she  was  this  age.  "Very  Young"  Gayerson 
would  have  forded  the  Indus  in  flood  to  carry 
her  lightest  word,  and  had  implicit  faith  in 
her.  Every  one  liked  him,  and  every  one  was 
sorry  when  they  saw  him  so  bound  a  slave  of 
the  Venus  Annodomini.  Every  one,  too,  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  not  her  fault ;  for  the  Venus 
Annodomini  differed  from  Mrs.  Hauksbee  and 
Mrs.  Reiver  in  this  particular — she  never 
moved  a  finger  to  attract  any  one;  but,  like 
Ninon  de  L'Enclos,  all  men  were  attracted  to 
her.      One    could    admire    and    respect    Mrs. 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI  353 

Hauksbee,  despise  and  avoid  Mrs.  Reiver,  but 
one  was  forced  to  adore  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini. 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  held  a  Divi- 
sion or  a  Collectorate  or  something-  adminis- 
trative in  a  particularly  unpleasant  part  of 
Bengal — full  of  Babus  who  edited  newspapers 
proving  that  "Young"  Gayerson  was  a 
"Nero"  and  a  "Scylla"  and  a  "Charybdis" ; 
and,  in  adition  to  the  Babus,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  dysentery  and  cholera  abroad  for  nine 
months  of  the  year.  "Young"  Gayerson — he 
was  about  five-and-forty — rather  liked  Babus, 
they  amused  him,  but  he  objected  to  dysentery, 
and  when  he  could  get  away,  went  to  Darjiling 
for  the  most  part.  This  particular  season  he 
fancied  that  he  would  come  up  to  Simla  and 
see  his  boy.  The  boy  was  not  altogether 
pleased.  He  told  the  Venus  Annodomini  that 
his  father  was  coming  up,  and  she  flushed  a 
little  and  said  that  she  should  be  delighted  to 
make  his  acquaintance.  Then  she  looked  long 
and  thoughtfully  at  "Very  Young"  Gayerson, 
because  she  was  very,  very  sorry  for  him,  and 
he  was  a  very,  very  big  idiot. 

"My  daughter  is  coming  out  in  a  fortnight, 
Mr.  Gayerson,"  she  said. 

"Your  what?"  said  he. 


354  VENUS  ANNODOMINI 

"Daughter,"  said  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
"She's  been  out  for  a  year  at  Home  already, 
and  I  want  her  to  see  a  little  of  India.  She  is 
nineteen  and  a  very  sensible  nice  girl  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson,  who  was  a  short 
twenty-two  years  old,  nearly  fell  out  of  his 
chair  with  astonishment;  for  he  had  persisted 
in  believing,  against  all  belief,  in  the  youth  of 
the  Venus  Annodomini.  She,  with  her  back 
to  the  curtained  window,  watched  the  effect 
of  her  sentences  and  smiled. 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson's  papa  came  up 
twelve  days  later,  and  had  not  been  in  Simla 
four-and-twenty  hours,  before  two  men,  old 
acquaintances  of  his,  had  told  him  how  "Very 
Young"  Gayerson  had  been  conducting  him- 
self. "Young"  Gayerson  laughed  a  good  deal, 
and  inquired  who  the  Venus  Annodomini 
might  be.  Which  proves  that  he  had  been  liv- 
ing in  Bengal  where  nobody  knows  anything 
except  the  rate  of  Exchange.  Then  he  said 
boys  will  be  boys,  and  spoke  to  his  son  about 
the  matter.  "Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  that 
he  felt  wretched  and  unhappy;  and  "Young" 
Gayerson  said  that  he  repented  of  having 
helped  to  bring  a  fool  into  the  world.  He  sug- 
gested that  his  son  had  better  cut  his  leave 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI  355 

short  and  go  down  to  his  duties.  This  led  to 
an  unfilial  answer,  and  relations  were  strained, 
until  "Young"  Gayerson  demanded  that  they 
should  call  on  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
"Very  Young"  Gayerson  went  with  his  papa, 
feeling,  somehow,  uncomfortable  and  small. 

The  Venus  Annodomini  received  them  gra- 
ciously and  "Young"  Gayerson  said,  "By 
Jove!  It's  Kitty!"  "Very  Young"  Gayerson 
would  have  listened  for  an  explanation,  if  his 
time  had  not  been  taken  up  with  trying  to 
talk  to  a  large,  handsome,  quiet,  well-dressed 
girl — introduced  to  him  by  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini as  her  daughter.  She  was  far  older 
in  manner,  style,  and  repose  than  "Very 
Young"  Gayerson;  and,  as  he  realized  this 
thing,  he  felt  sick. 

Presently,  he  heard  the  Venus  Annodomini 
saying,  "Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  one 
of  my  most  devoted  admirers  ?" 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  "Young"  Gayerson. 
Here  he  raised  his  voice,  "He  follows  his 
father's  footsteps.  Didn't  I  worship  the 
ground  you  trod  on,  ever  so  long  ago,  Kitty — 
and  you  haven't  changed  since  then.  How 
strange  it  all  seems!" 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  nothing.  His 
conversation  with  the  daughter  of  the  Venus 


356  VENUS  ANNODOMINI 

Annodomini  was,  through  the  rest  of  the  call, 
fragmentary  and  disjointed. 

"At  five  to-morrow  then,"  said  the  Venus 
Annodomini.     "And  mind  you  are  punctual." 

"At  five  punctually,"  said  "Young"  Gayer- 
son.  "You  can  lend  your  old  father  a  horse  I 
dare  say,  youngster,  can't  you?  I'm  going  for 
a  ride  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Certainly,"  said  "Very  Young"  Gayerson. 
"I  am  going  down  to-morrow  morning.  My 
ponies  are  at  your  service,  Sir." 

The  Venus  Annodomini  looked  at  him 
across  the  half-light  of  the  room,  and  her  big 
grey  eyes  filled  with  moisture.  She  rose  and 
shook  hands  with  him. 

"Good-bye,  Tom,"  whispered  the  Venus  An- 
nodomini. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 


THE    BISARA    OF    POOREE 

Little  Blind  Fish,  thou  art  marvelous  wise, 
Little  Blind  Fish,  who  put  out  thy  eyes? 
Open  thy  ears  while  I  whisper  my  wish — 
Bring  me  a  lover,  thou  little  Blind  Fish. 

— The  Charm  of  the  Bisara. 

SOME  natives  say  that  it  came  from  the 
other  side  of  Kulu,  where  the  eleven-inch 
Temple  Sapphire  is.  Others  that  it  was  made 
at  the  Devil-Shrine  of  Ao-Chung  in  Thibet, 
was  stolen  by  a  Kafir,  from  him  by  a  Gurkha, 
from  him  again  by  a  Lahouli,  from  him  by  a 
khitmatgar,  and  by  this  latter  sold  to  an  Eng- 
lishman, so  all  its  virtue  was  lost;  because,  to 
work  properly,  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  must  be 
stolen — with  bloodshed  if  possible,  but,  at  any 
rate,  stolen. 

These  stories  of  the  coming  into  India  are 
all  false.  It  was  made  at  Pooree  ages  since — ■ 
the  manner  of  its  making  would  fill  a  small 
book — was  stolen  by  one  of  the  Temple  danc- 
ing-girls there,  for  her  own  purposes,  and  then 
passed  on  from  hand  to  hand,  steadily  north- 
359 


360        THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 

ward,  till  it  reached  Hanle:  always  bearing 
the  same  name — the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  In 
shape  it  is  a  tiny  square  box  of  silver,  studded 
outside  with  eight  small  balas-rubies.  Inside 
the  box,  which  opens  with  a  spring,  is  a  little 
eyeless  fish,  carved  from  some  sort  of  dark, 
shiny  nut  and  wrapped  in  a  shred  of  faded 
gold-cloth.  That  is  the  Bisara  of  Pooree,  and 
it  were  better  for  a  man  to  take  a  king-cobra 
in  his  hand  than  to  touch  the  Bisara  of  Pooree. 

All  kinds  of  magic  are  out  of  date,  and  done 
away  with  except  in  India  where  nothing 
changes  in  spite  of  the  shiny,  top-scum  stuff 
that  people  call  "civilization."  Any  man  who 
knows  about  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  will  tell  you 
what  its  powers  are — always  supposing  that  it 
has  been  honestly  stolen.  It  is  the  only  reg- 
ularly working,  trustworthy  love-charm  in  the 
country,  with  one  exception.  [The  other 
charm  is  in  the  hands  of  a  trooper  of  the 
Nizam's  Horse,  at  a  place  called  Tuprani,  due 
north  of  Hyderabad.]  This  can  be  depended 
upon  for  a  fact.    Some  one  else  may  explain  it. 

If  the  Bisara  be  not  stolen,  but  given  or 
bought  or  found,  it  turns  against  its  owner  in 
three  years,  and  leads  to  ruin  or  death.  This 
is  another  fact  which  you  may  explain  when 
you  have  time.     Meanwhile,  you  can  laugh  at 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE         361 

it.  At  present,  the  Bisara  is  safe  on  a  hack- 
pony's  neck,  inside  the  blue  beacl-necklace  that 
keeps  off  the  Evil-Eye.  If  the  pony-driver 
ever  finds  it,  and  wears  it,  or  gives  it  to  his 
wife,  I  am  sorry  for  him. 

A  very  dirty  hill-cooly  woman,  with  goitre, 
owned  it  at  Theog  in  1884.  It  came  into  Simla 
from  the  north  before  Churton's  khitmatgar 
bought  it,  and  sold  it,  for  three  times  its  silver- 
value,  to  Churton,  who  collected  curiosities. 
The  servant  knew  no  more  what  he  had  bought 
than  the  master ;  but  a  man  looking  over  Chur- 
ton's collection  of  curiosities — Churton  was  an 
Assistant  Commissioner  by  the  way — saw  and 
held  his  tongue.  He  was  an  Englishman;  but 
knew  how  to  believe.  Which  shows  that  he 
was  different  from  most  Englishmen.  He 
knew  that  it  was  dangerous  to  have  any  share 
in  the  little  box  when  working  or  dormant; 
for  Love  unsought  is  a  terrible  gift. 

Pack — "Grubby"  Pack,  we  used  to  call  him 
— was,  in  every  way.  a  nasty  little  man  who 
must  have  crawled  into  the  Army  by  mistake. 
He  was  three  inches  taller  than  his  sword,  but 
not  half  so  strong.  And  the  sword  was  a  fifty- 
shilling,  tailor-made  one.  Nobody  liked  him, 
and,  I  suppose,  it  was  his  wizenedness  and 
worthlessness  that  made  him  fall  so  hopelessly 


362        THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 

in  love  with  Miss  Hollis,  who  was  good  and 
sweet,  and  five-foot-seven  in  her  tennis-shoes. 
He  was  not  content  with  falling  in  love 
quietly,  but  brought  all  the  strength  of  his 
miserable  little  nature  into  the  business.  If 
he  had  not  been  so  objectionable,  one  might 
have  pitied  him.  He  vapored,  and  fretted,  and 
fumed,  and  trotted  up  and  down,  and  tried  to 
make  himself  pleasing  in  Miss  Hollis'  big, 
quiet,  grey  eyes,  and  failed.  It  was  one  of 
the  cases  that  you  sometimes  meet,  even  in 
our  country  where  we  marry  by  Code,  of  a 
really  blind  attachment  all  on  one  side,  with- 
out the  faintest  possibility  of  return.  Miss 
Hollis  looked  on  Pack  as  some  sort  of  vermin 
running  about  the  road.  He  had  no  prospects 
beyond  Captain's  pay,  and  no  wits  to  help  that 
out  by  one  penny.  In  a  large-sized  man,  love 
like  this  would  have  been  touching.  In  a  good 
man  it  would  have  been  grand.  He  being 
what  he  was,  it  was  only  a  nuisance. 

You  will  believe  this  much.  What  you  will 
not  believe  is  what  follows :  Churton,  and 
The  Man  who  Knew  what  the  Bisara  was, 
were  lunching  at  the  Simla  Club  together. 
Churton  was  complaining  of  life  in  general. 
His  best  mare  had  rolled  out  of  stable  down 
the  cliff  and  had  broken  her  back ;  his  decisions 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE        363 

were  being  reversed  by  the  upper  Courts  more 
than  an  Assistant  Commisioner  of  eight  years' 
standing  has  a  right  to  expect;  he  knew  liver 
and  fever,  and,  for  weeks  past,  had  felt  out  of 
sorts.  Altogether,  he  was  disgusted  and  dis- 
heartened. 

Simla  Club  dining-room  is  built,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  in  two  sections,  with  an  arch- 
arrangement  dividing  them.  Come  in,  turn  to 
your  own  left,  take  the  table  under  the  win- 
dow, and  you  cannot  see  any  one  who  has 
come  in,  turned  to  the  right,  and  taken  a  table 
on  the  right  side  of  the  arch.  Curiously 
enough,  every  word  that  you  say  can  be  heard, 
not  only  by  the  other  diner,  but  by  the  servants 
beyond  the  screen  through  which  they  bring 
dinner.  This  is  worth  knowing;  an  echoing- 
room  is  a  trap  to  be  forewarned  against. 

Half  in  fun,  and  half  hoping  to  be  believed, 
The  Man  who  Knew  told  Churton  the  story  of 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  at  rather  greater  length 
than  I  have  told  it  to  you  in  this  place ;  winding 
up  with  a  suggestion  that  Churton  might  as 
well  throw  the  little  box  down  the  hill  and  see 
whether  all  his  troubles  would  go  with  it.  In 
ordinary  ears,  English  ears,  the  tale  was  only 
an  interesting  bit  of  folklore.  Churton 
laughed,  said  that  he  felt  better  for  his  tiffin, 


364        THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 

and  went  out.  Pack  had  been  tiffining  by  him- 
self to  the  right  of  the  arch,  and  had  heard 
everything.  He  was  nearly  mad  with  his  ab- 
surd infatuation  for  Miss  Hollis,  that  all  Simla 
had  been  laughing  about. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that,  when  a  man  hates 
or  loves  beyond  reason,  he  is  ready  to  go  be- 
yond reason  to  gratify  his  feelings.  Which 
he  would  not  do  for  money  or  power  merely. 
Depend  upon  it,  Solomon  would  never  have 
built  altars  to  Ashtaroth  and  all  those  ladies 
with  queer  names,  if  there  had  not  been  trouble 
of  some  kind  in  his  zenana,  and  nowhere  else. 
But  this  is  beside  the  story.  The  facts  of  the 
case  are  these:  Pack  called  on  Churton  next 
day  when  Churton  was  out,  left  his  card, 
and  stole  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  from  its 
place  under  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece! 
Stole  it  like  the  thief  he  was  by  nature. 
Three  days  later  all  Simla  was  electrified 
by  the  news  that  Miss  Hollis  had  accept- 
ed Pack — the  shrivelled  rat,  Pack!  Do 
you  desire  clearer  evidence  than  this?  The 
Bisara  of  Pooree  had  been  stolen,  and  it 
worked  as  it  had  always  done  when  won  by 
foul  means. 

There  are  three  or  four  times  in  a  man's  life 
when  he  is  justified  in  meddling  with  other 
people's  affairs  to  play  Providence. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 


duo 


The  Man  who  Knew  felt  that  he  was  jus- 
tified; but  believing  and  acting  on  a  belief  are 
quite  different  things.  The  insolent  satisfac- 
tion of  Pack  as  he  ambled  by  the  side  of  Miss 
Hollis,  and  Churton's  striking  release  from 
liver,  as  soon  as  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  had 
gone,  decided  The  Man.  He  explained  to 
Churton,  and  Churton  laughed,  because  he 
was  not  brought  up  to  believe  that  men  on  the 
Government  House  List  steal — at  least  little 
things.  But  the  miraculous  acceptance  by  Miss 
Hollis  of  that  tailor,  Pack,  decided  him  to  take 
steps  on  suspicion.  He  vowed  that  he  only 
wanted  to  find  out  where  his  ruby-studded 
silver  box  had  vanished  to.  You  cannot  accuse 
a  man  on  the  Government  House  List  of  steal- 
ing. And  if  you  rifle  his  room,  you  are  a  thief 
yourself.  Churton,  prompted  by  The  Man 
who  Knew,  decided  on  burglary.  If  he  found 
nothing  in  Pack's  room  .  .  .  but  it  is  not 
nice  to  think  of  what  would  have  happened  in 
that  case. 

Pack  went  to  a  dance  at  Benmore — Benmore 
was  Benmore  in  those  days,  and  not  an  office — 
and  danced  fifteen  waltzes  out  of  twenty-two 
with  Miss  Hollis.  Churton  and  The  Man  took 
all  the  keys  that  they  could  lay  hands  on,  and 
went  to  Pack's  room  in  the  hotel,  certain  that 
his  servants  would  be  away.    Pack  was  a  cheap 


366        THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 

soul.  He  had  not  purchased  a  decent  cash-box 
to  keep  his  papers  in,  but  one  of  those  native 
imitations  that  you  buy  for  ten  rupees.  It 
opened  to  any  sort  of  key,  and  there  at  the  bot- 
tom, under  Pack's  Insurance  Policy,  lay  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree! 

Churton  called  Pack  names,  put  the  Bisara 
of  Pooree  in  his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  dance 
with  The  Man.  At  least,  he  came  in  time  for 
supper,  and  saw  the  beginning  of  the  end  in 
Miss  Hollis'  eyes.  She  was  hysterical  after 
supper,  and  was  taken  away  by  her  Mamma. 

At  the  dance,  with  the  abominable  Bisara  in 
his  pocket,  Churton  twisted  his  foot  on  one  of 
the  steps  leading  down  to  the  old  Rink,  and 
had  to  be  sent  home  in  a  'rickshaw,  grumbling. 
He  did  not  believe  in  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  any 
more  for  this  manifestation,  but  he  sought  out 
Pack  and  called  him  some  ugly  names ;  and 
"thief"  was  the  mildest  of  them.  Pack  took 
the  names  with  the  nervous  smile  of  a  little 
man  who  wants  both  soul  and  body  to  resent 
an  insult,  and  went  his  way.  There  was  no 
public  scandal. 

A  week  later,  Pack  got  his  definite  dismissal 
from  Miss  Hollis.  There  had  been  a  mistake 
in  the  placing  of  her  affections,  she  said.  So 
he  went  away  to  Madras,  where  he  can  do  no 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE         367 

great  harm  even  if  he  lives  to  be  a  Colonel. 

Churton  insisted  upon  The  Man  who  Knew 
taking  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  as  a  gift.  The 
Man  took  it,  went  down  to  the  Cart-Road  at 
once,  found  a  cart-pony  with  a  blue  bead- 
necklace,  fastened  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  inside 
the  necklace  with  a  piece  of  shoe-string  and 
thanked  Heaven  that  he  was  rid  of  a  danger. 
Remember,  in  case  you  ever  find  it,  that  you 
must  not  destroy  the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  I 
have  not  time  to  explain  why  just  now,  but  the 
power  lies  in  the  little  wooden  fish.  Mister 
Gubernatis  or  Max  Miiller  could  tell  you  more 
about  it  than  I. 

You  will  say  that  all  this  story  is  made  up. 
Very  well.  If  ever  you  come  across  a  little, 
silver,  ruby-studded  box,  seven-eighths  of  an 
inch  long  by  three-quarters  wide,  with  a  dark 
brown  wooden  fish,  wrapped  in  gold  cloth,  in- 
side it,  keep  it.  Keep  it  for  three  years,  and 
then  you  will  discover  for  yourself  whether 
my  story  is  true  or  false. 

Better  still,  steal  it  as  Pack  did,  and  you  will 
be  sorry  that  you  had  not  killed  yourself  in  the 
beginning. 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

Wherefore  slew  you  the  stranger?  He  brought  me 
dishonor. 

I  saddled  my  mare  Bijli.  I  set  him  upon  her. 

I  gave  him  rice  and  goat's  flesh.  He  bared  me  to  laugh- 
ter; 

When  he  was  gone  from  my  tent,  swift  I  followed  after, 

Taking  a  sword  in  my  hand.  The  hot  wine  had  filled 
him: 

Under  the  stars  he  mocked  me.    Therefore  I  killed  him. 

— Hadramauli. 

THIS  tale  must  be  told  in  the  first  person 
for  many  reasons.  The  man  whom  I 
want  to  expose  is  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side. 
I  want  Tranter  black-balled  at  his  Club, 
divorced  from  his  wife,  turned  out  of  Service, 
and  cast  into  prison,  until  I  get  an  apology 
from  him  in  writing.  I  wish  to  warn  the 
world  against  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side. 

You  know  the  casual  way  in  which  men  pass 
on  acquaintances  in  India?    It  is  a  great  con- 
venience, because  you  can  get  rid  of  a  man 
you  don't  like  by  writing  a  letter  of  introduc- 
371 


Z7* 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 


tion  and  putting  him,  with  it,  into  the  train. 
T.  G.'s  are  best  treated  thus.  If  you  keep 
them  moving,  they  have  no  time  to  say  insult- 
ing and  offensive  things  about  "Anglo-Indian 
Society." 

One  day,  late  in  the  cold  weather,  I  got  a  let-' 
ter  of  preparation  from  Tranter  of  the  Bom- 
bay side,  advising  me  of  the  advent  of  a  T.  G., 
a  man  called  Jevon;  and  saying,  as  usual,  that 
any  kindness  shown  to  Jevon  would  be  a  kind- 
ness to  Tranter.  Every  one  knows  the  regular 
form  of  these  communications. 

Two  days  afterward,  Jevon  turned  up  with 
his  letter  of  introduction,  and  I  did  what  I 
could  for  him.  He  was  lint-haired,  fresh-col- 
ored, and  very  English.  But  he  held  no  views 
about  the  Government  of  India.  Nor  did  he 
insist  on  shooting  tigers  on  the  Station  Mall, 
as  some  T.  G.'s  do.  Nor  did  he  call  us 
"colonists,"  and  dine  in  a  flannel  shirt  and 
tweeds,  under  that  delusion  as  other  T.  G.'s 
do.  He  was  well-behaved  and  very  grateful 
for  the  little  I  won  for  him — most  grateful 
of  all  when  I  secured  him  an  invitation  for  the 
Afghan  Ball,  and  introduced  him  to  a  Mrs. 
Deemes,  a  lady  for  whom  I  had  a  great  re- 
spect and  admiration,  who  danced  like  the 
shadow  of  a  leaf  in  a  light  wind.    I  set  great 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  373 

store  by  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Deemes;  but, 
had  I  known  what  was  coming,  I  would  have 
broken  Jevon's  neck  with  a  curtain-pole  before 
getting  him  that  invitation. 

But  I  did  not  know,  and  he  dined,  at  the 
Club,  I  think,  on  the  night  of  the  ball.  I  dined 
at  home.  When  I  went  to  the  dance,  the  first 
man  I  met  asked  me  whether  I  had  seen  Jevon. 
"No,"  said  I.  "He's  at  the  Club.  Hasn't  he 
come?"  — "Come!"  said  the  man.  "Yes,  he's 
very  much  come.     You'd  better  look  at  him." 

I  sought  for  Jevon.  I  found  him  sitting  on 
a  bench  and  smiling  to  himself  and  a  pro- 
gramme. Half  a  look  was  enough  for  me. 
On  that  one  night,  of  all  others,  he  had  begun 
a  long  and  thirsty  evening,  by  taking  too 
much !  He  was  breathing  heavily  through  his 
nose,  his  eyes  were  rather  red,  and  he  appeared 
very  satisfied  with  all  the  earth.  I  put  up  a 
little  prayer  that  the  waltzing  would  work  off 
the  wine,  and  went  about  programme-filling, 
feeling  uncomfortable.  But  I  saw  Jevon  walk 
up  to  Mrs.  Deemes  for  the  first  dance,  and  I 
knew  that  all  the  waltzing  on  the  card  was 
not  enough  to  keep  Jevon's  rebellious  legs 
steady.  That  couple  went  round  six  times.  I 
counted.  Mrs.  Deemes  dropped  Jevon's  arm 
and  came  across  to  me. 


374  A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  Mrs.  Deemes 
said  to  me;  because  she  was  very  angry  in- 
deed. I  am  not  going  to  write  what  I  said  to 
Mrs.  Deemes,  because  I  didn't  say  anything. 
I  only  wished  that  I  had  killed  Jevon  first  and 
been  hanged  for  it.  Mrs.  Deemes  drew  her 
pencil  through  all  the  dances  that  I  had  booked 
with  her,  and  went  away,  leaving  me  to  re- 
member that  what  I  ought  to  have  said  was 
that  Mrs.  Deemes  had  asked  to  be  introduced 
to  Jevon  because  he  danced  well;  and  that  I 
really  had  not  carefully  worked  out  a  plot  to 
get  her  insulted.  But  I  felt  that  argument  was 
no  good,  and  that  I  had  better  try  to  stop 
Jevon  from  waltzing  me  into  more  trouble. 
He,  however,  was  gone,  and  about  every  third 
dance  I  set  off  to  hunt  for  him.  This  ruined 
what  little  pleasure  I  expected  from  the  en- 
tertainment. 

Just  before  supper  I  caught  Jevon,  at  the 
buffet  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  talking  to  a 
very  fat  indignant  chaperone.  "If  this  per- 
son is  a  friend  of  yours,  as  I  understand  he  is, 
I  would  recommend  you  to  take  him  home," 
said  she.  "He  is  unfit  for  decent  society." 
Then  I  knew  that  goodness  only  knew  what 
Jevon  had  been  doing,  and  I  tried  to  get  him 
away. 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  375 

But  Jevon  wasn't  going;  not  he.  He  knew 
what  was  good  for  him,  he  did ;  and  he  wasn't 
going  to  be  dictated  to  by  any  laconical  nigger- 
driver,  he  wasn't;  and  I  was  the  friend  who 
had  formed  his  infant  mind  and  brought  him 
up  to  buy  Benares  brassware  and  fear  God, 
so  I  was ;  and  we  would  have  many  more  blaz- 
ing good  drunks  together,  so  we  would ;  and 
all  the  she-camels  in  black  silk  in  the  world 
shouldn't  make  him  withdraw  his  opinion  that 
there  was  nothing  better  than  Benedictine  to 
give  one  an  appetite.  And  then  .  .  .  but 
he  was  my  guest. 

I  set  him  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  supper- 
room,  and  went  to  find  a  wall-prop  that  I  could 
trust.  There  was  a  good  and  kindly  Subaltern 
— may  Heaven  bless  that  Subaltern,  and  make 
him  a  Commander-in-Chief! — who  heard  of 
my  trouble.  He  was  not  dancing  himself,  and 
he  owned  a  head  like  five-year-old  teak-baulks. 
He  said  that  he  would  look  after  Jevon  till  the 
end  of  the  ball. 

"Don't  suppose  you  much  mind  what  I  do 
with  him?"  said  he. 

"Mind!"  said  I.  "No!  You  can  murder 
the  beast  if  you  like." 

But  the  Subaltern  did  not  murder  him.  He 
trotted  off  to  the  supper-room,  and  sat  down 


276  A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

by  Jevon,  drinking  peg  for  peg  with  him.  I 
saw  the  two  fairly  established,  and  went  away, 
feeling  more  easy. 

When  "The  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England" 
sounded,  I  heard  of  Jevon's  performances  be- 
tween the  first  dance  and  my  meeting  with 
him  at  the  buffet.  After  Mrs.  Deemes  had 
cast  him  off,  it  seems  that  he  had  found  his 
way  into  the  gallery,  and  offered  to  conduct 
the  Band  or  to  play  any  instrument  in  it  just 
as  the  Bandmaster  pleased. 

When  the  Bandmaster  refused  Jevon  said 
that  he  wasn't  appreciated,  and  he  yearned  for 
sympathy.  So  he  trundled  downstairs  and  sat 
out  four  dances  with  four  girls,  and  proposed 
to  three  of  them.  One  of  the  girls  was  a  mar- 
ried woman  by  the  way.  Then  he  went  into 
the  whist-room,  and  fell  face-down  and  wept 
on  the  hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  because 
he  had  fallen  into  a  den  of  card-sharpers,  and 
his  Mamma  had  always  warned  him  against 
bad  company.  He  had  done  a  lot  of  other 
things,  too,  and  had  taken  about  three  quarts 
of  mixed  liquors.  Besides,  speaking  of  me 
in  the  most  scandalous  fashion! 

All  the  women  wanted  him  turned  out,  and 
all  the  men  wanted  him  kicked.  The  worst  of 
it  was,  that  every  one  said  it  was  my  fault. 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  377 

Now,  I  put  it  to  you  how  on  earth  could  I 
have  known  that  this  innocent,  fluffy  T.  G. 
would  break  out  in  this  disgusting-  manner? 
You  see  he  had  gone  round  the  world  nearly, 
and  his  vocabulary  of  abuse  was  cosmopolitan, 
though  mainly  Japanese  which  he  had  picked 
up  in  a  low  tea-house  at  Hakodate.  It  sounded 
like  whistling. 

While  I  was  listening  to  first  one  man  and 
then  another  telling  me  of  Jevon's  shameless 
behavior  and  asking  me  for  his  blood,  I  won- 
dered where  he  was.  I  was  prepared  to  sac- 
rifice him  to  Society  on  the  spot. 

But  Jevon  was  gone,  and,  far  away  in  the 
corner  of  the  supper-room,  sat  my  dear,  good 
Subaltern,  a  little  flushed,  eating  salad.  I  went 
over  and  said,  "Where's  Jevon?" — "In  the 
cloakroom,"  said  the  Subaltern.  "He'll  keep 
till  the  women  have  gone.  Don't  you  inter- 
fere with  my  prisoner."  I  didn't  want  to  in- 
terfere but  I  peeped  into  the  cloakroom,  and 
found  my  guest  put  to  bed  on  some  rolled-up 
carpets,  all  comfy,  his  collar  free,  and  a  wet 
swab  on  his  head. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  I  spent  in  making 
timid  attempts  to  explain  things  to  Mrs. 
Deemes  and  three  or  four  other  ladies,  and 
trying  to  clear  my  character — for  I  am  a  re- 


378  A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

spectable  man — from  the  shameful  slurs  that 
my  guest  had  cast  upon  it.  Libel  was  no  word 
for  what  he  had  said. 

When  I  wasn't  trying  to  explain,  I  was  run- 
ning off  to  the  cloakroom  to  see  that  Jevon 
wasn't  dead  of  apoplexy.  I  didn't  want  him 
to  die  on  my  hands.  He  had  eaten  my 
salt. 

At  last  that  ghastly  ball  ended,  though  I  was 
not  in  the  least  restored  to  Mrs.  Deemes'  favor. 
When  the  ladies  had  gone,  and  some  one  was 
calling  for  songs  at  the  second  supper,  that 
angelic  Subaltern  told  the  servants  to  bring  in 
the  Sahib  who  was  in  the  cloakroom,  and  clear 
away  one  end  of  the  supper-table.  While  this 
was  being  done,  we  formed  ourselves  into  a 
Board  of  Punishment  with  the  Doctor  for 
President. 

Jevon  came  in  on  four  men's  shoulders,  and 
was  put  down  on  the  table  like  a  corpse  in  a 
dissecting-room,  while  the  Doctor  lectured  on 
the  evils  of  intemperance  and  Jevon  snored. 
Then  we  set  to  work. 

We  corked  the  whole  of  his  face.  We  filled 
his  hair  with  meringue-cream  till  it  looked  like 
a  white  wig.  To  protect  everything  till  it 
dried,  a  man  in  the  Ordnance  Department,  who 
understood  the  work,  luted  a  big  blue  paper 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  379 

cap  from  a  cracker,  with  meringue-cream,  low 
down  on  Jevon's  forehead.  This  was  punish- 
ment, not  play,  remember.  We  took  gelatine 
off  crackers,  and  stuck  blue  gelatine  on  his 
nose,  and  yellow  gelatine  on  his  chin,  and  green 
and  red  gelatine  on  his  cheeks,  pressing  each 
dab  down  till  it  held  as  firm  as  goldbeaters' 
skin. 

We  put  a  ham-frill  round  his  neck,  and  tied 
it  in  a  bow  in  front.  He  nodded  like  a  man- 
darin. 

We  fixed  gelatine  on  the  back  of  his  hands, 
and  burned-corked  them  inside,  and  put  small 
cutlet-frills  round  his  wrists,  and  tied  both 
wrists  together  with  string.  We  waxed  up 
the  ends  of  his  moustache  with  isinglass.  He 
looked  very  martial. 

We  turned  him  over,  pinned  up  his  coat- 
tails  between  his  shoulders,  and  put  a  rosette  of 
cutlet-frills  there.  We  took  up  the  red  cloth 
from  the  ball-room  to  the  supper-room,  and 
wound  him  up  in  it.  There  were  sixty  feet 
of  red  cloth,  six  feet  broad ;  and  he  rolled  up 
into  a  big  fat  bundle,  with  only  that  amazing 
head  sticking  out. 

Lastly,  we  tied  up  the  surplus  of  the  cloth 
beyond  his  feet  with  cocoanut-fibre  string  as 
tightly  as  we  knew  how.  We  were  so  angry 
that  we  hardly  laughed  at  all. 


380  A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 

Just  as  we  finished,  we  heard  the  rumble  of 
bullock  -  carts  taking  away  some  chairs  and 
things  that  the  General's  wife  had  loaned  for 
the  ball.  So  we  hoisted  Jevon,  like  a  roll  of 
carpets,  into  one  of  the  carts,  and  the  carts 
went  away. 

Now  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  this 
tale  is  that  never  again  did  I  see  or  hear  any- 
thing of  Jevon,  T.  G.  He  vanished  utterly. 
He  was  not  delivered  at  the  General's  house 
with  the  carpets.  He  just  went  into  the  black 
darkness  of  the  end  of  the  night,  and  was  swal- 
lowed up.  Perhaps  he. died  and  was  thrown 
into  the  river. 

But,  alive  or  dead,  I  have  often  wondered 
how  he  got  rid  of  the  red  cloth  and  the 
meringue-cream.  I  wonder  still  whether  Mrs. 
Deemes  will  ever  take  any  notice  of  me  again, 
and  whether  I  shall  live  down  the  infamous 
stories  that  Jevon  set  afloat  about  my  manners 
and  customs  between  the  first  and  the  ninth 
waltz  of  the  Afghan  Ball.  They  stick  closer 
than  cream. 

Wherefore,  I  want  Tranter  of  the  Bombay 
side,  dead  or  alive.    But  dead  for  preference. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED 
SORROWS 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED 
SORROWS 

If  I  can  attain  Heaven  for  a  pice,  why  should  you  be 
envious? — Opium  Smoker's  Proverb. 

THIS  is  no  work  of  mine.  My  friend, 
Gabral  Misquitta,  the  half-caste,  spoke  it 
all,  between  moonset  and  morning,  six  weeks 
before  he  died;  and  I  took  it  down  from  his 
mouth  as  he  answered  my  questions.    So : 

It  lies  between  the  Coppersmith's  Gully  and 
the  pipe-stem  sellers'  quarter,  within  a  hun- 
dred yards,  too,  as  the  crow  flies,  of  the 
Mosque  of  Wazir  Khan.  I  don't  mind  telling 
any  one  this  much,  but  I  defy  him  to  find  the 
Gate,  however  well  he  may  think  he  knows  the 
City.  You  might  even  go  through  the  very 
gully  it  stands  in  a  hundred  times,  and  be  none 
the  wiser.  We  used  to  call  the  gully,  "The 
Gully  of  the  Black  Smoke,"  but  its  native  name 
is  altogether  different  of  course.  A  loaded 
donkey  couldn't  pass  between  the  walls;  and, 
at  one  point,  just  before  you  reach  the  Gate, 
a  bulged  house-front  makes  people  go  along 
all  sideways. 

383 


384  THE  GATE  OF  THE 

It  isn't  really  a  gate  though.  It's  a  house. 
Old  Fung-Tching  had  it  first  five  years  ago. 
He  was  a  boot-maker  in  Calcutta.  They  say 
that  he  murdered  his  wife  there  when  he  was 
drunk.  That  was  why  he  dropped  bazar-rum 
and  took  to  the  Black  Smoke  instead.  Later 
on,  he  came  up  north  and  opened  the  Gate  as 
a  house  where  you  could  get  your  smoke  in 
peace  and  quiet.  Mind  you,  it  was  a  pukka, 
respectable  opium-house,  and  not  one  of  those 
stifling,  sweltering  chandoo-khanas,  that  you 
can  find  all  over  the  City.  No;  the  old  man 
knew  his  business  thoroughly,  and  he  was  most 
clean  for  a  Chinaman.  He  was  a  one-eyed 
little  chap,  not  much  more  than  five  feet  high, 
and  both  his  middle  fingers  were  gone.  All 
the  same,  he  was  the  handiest  man  at  rolling 
black  pills  I  have  even  seen.  Never  seemed 
to  be  touched  by  the  Smoke,  either;  and  what 
he  took  day  and  night,  night  and  day,  was  a 
caution.  I've  been  at  it  five  years,  and  I  can 
do  my  fair  share  of  the  Smoke  with  any  one; 
but  I  was  a  child  to  Fung-Tching  that  way. 
All  the  same,  the  old  man  was  keen  on  his 
money :  very  keen ;  and  that's  what  I  can't  un- 
derstand. I  heard  he  saved  a  good  deal  before 
he  died,  but  his  nephew  has  got  all  that  now; 
and  the  old  man's  gone  back  to  China  to  be 
buried. 


nfftoD  g'gnirfoT-gnLrl  ebw  eao|  aril  aiiaoqqO 
zalloM  bl.snig9.fl  ^d  Ijsnigno  isllfi  no2  &  waibnA  nrio^  ^d  9iuv£igoss9M 


Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung-Tching's  coffin 
Mezzogravure  by  John  Andrew  &  Son  after  original  by  Reginald  Bolles 


HUNDRED  SORROWS  385 

He  kept  the  big  upper  room,  where  his  best 
customers  gathered,  as  neat  as  a  new  pin.  In 
one  corner  used  to  stand  Fung-Tching's  Joss — 
almost  as  ugly  as  Fung-Tching — and  there 
were  always  sticks  burning  under  his  nose; 
but  you  never  smelled  'em  when  the  pipes  were 
going  thick.  Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung- 
Tching's  coffin.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of 
his  savings  on  that,  and  whenever  a  new  man 
came  to  the  Gate  he  was  always  introduced  to 
it.  It  was  lacquered  black,  with  red  and  gold 
writings  on  it,  and  I've  heard  that  Fung- 
Tching  brought  it  out  all  the  way  from  China. 
I  don't  know  whether  that's  true  or  not,  but  I 
know  that,  if  I  came  first  in  the  evening,  I 
used  to  spread  my  mat  just  at  the  foot  of  it. 
It  was  a  quiet  corner,  you  see,  and  a  sort  of 
breeze  from  the  gully  came  in  at  the  window 
now  and  then.  Besides  the  mats,  there  was  no 
other  furniture  in  the  room — only  the  coffin, 
and  the  old  Joss  all  green  and  blue  and  purple 
with  age  and  polish. 

Fung-Tching  never  told  us  why  he  called 
the  place  "The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows." 
(He  was  the  only  Chinaman  I  know  who  used 
bad-sounding  fancy  names.  Most  of  them  are 
flowenr.  As  you'll  see  in  Calcutta.)  We  used 
to  find  that  out  for  ourselves.     Nothing  grows 


386  THE  GATE  OF  THE 

on  you  so  much,  if  you're  white,  as  the  Black 
Smoke.  A  yellow  man  is  made  different. 
Opium  doesn't  tell  on  him  scarcely  at  all ;  but 
white  and  black  suffer  a  good  deal.  Of 
course,  there  are  some  people  that  the  Smoke 
doesn't  touch  any  more  than  tobacco  would  at 
first.  They  just  doze  a  bit,  as  one  would  fall 
asleep  naturally,  and  next  morning  they  are 
almost  fit  for  work.  Now,  I  was  one  of  that 
sort  when  I  began,  but  I've  been  at  it  for  five 
years  pretty  steadily,  and  it's  different  now. 
There  was  an  old  aunt  of  mine,  down  Agra 
way,  and  she  left  me  a  little  at  her  death. 
About  sixty  rupees  a  month  secured.  Sixty 
isn't  much.  I  can  recollect  a  time,  'seems 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  ago,  that  I 
was  getting  my  three  hundred  a  month,  and 
pickings,  when  I  was  working  on  a  big  timber- 
contract  in  Calcutta. 

I  didn't  stick  to  that  work  for  long.  The 
Black  Smoke  does  not  allow  of  much  other 
business ;  and  even  though  I  am  very  little 
affected  by  it,  as  men  go,  I  couldn't  do  a  day's 
work  now  to  save  my  life.  After  all,  sixty- 
rupees  is  what  I  want.  When  old  Fung- 
Tching  was  alive  he  used  to  draw  the  money 
for  me,  give  me  about  half  of  it  to  live  on 
(I  eat  very  little),  and  the  rest  he  kept  himself. 


HUNDRED  SORROWS  387 

I  was  free  of  the  Gate  at  any  time  of  the  day 
and  night,  and  could  smoke  and  sleep  there 
when  I  liked,  so  I  didn't  care.  I  know  the  old 
man  made  a  good  thing  out  of  it;  but  that's 
no  matter.  Nothing  matters  much  to  me ;  and 
besides,  the  money  always  came  fresh  and 
fresh  each  month. 

There  were  ten  of  us  met  at  the  Gate  when 
the  place  was  first  opened.  Me,  and  two 
Baboos  from  a  Government  Office  somewhere 
in  Anarkulli,  but  they  got  the  sack  and  couldn't 
pay  (no  man  who  has  to  work  in  the  daylight 
can  do  the  Black  Smoke  for  any  length  of  time 
straight  on)  ;  a  Chinaman  that  was  Fung- 
Tching's  nephew ;  a  bazar-woman  that  had  got 
a  lot  of  money  somehow;  an  English  loafer — 
Mac-Somebody  I  think,  but  I  have  forgotten, 
— that  smoked  heaps,  but  never  seemed  to  pay 
anything  (they  said  he  had  saved  Fung- 
Tching's  life  at  some  trial  in  Calcutta  when 
he  was  a  barrister)  ;  another  Eurasian,  like 
myself,  from  Madras;  a  half-caste  woman,  and 
a  couple  of  men  who  said  they  had  come  from 
the  North.  I  think  they  must  have  been  Per- 
sians or  Afghans  or  something.  There  are 
not  more  than  five  of  us  living  now,  but  we 
come  regular.  I  don't  know  what  happened 
to  the  Baboos;  but  the  bazar-woman  she  died 


388  THE  GATE  OF  THE 

after   six   months   of  the   Gate,   and   I  think 
Fung-Tching  took  her  bangles  and  nose-ring 
for  himself.     But  I'm  not  certain.     The  Eng- 
lishman, he  drank  as  well  as  smoked,  and  he 
dropped  off.    One  of  the  Persians  got  killed  in 
a  row  at  night  by  the  big  well  near  the  Mosque 
a  long  time  ago,  and  the  Police  shut  up  the 
well,  because  they  said  it  was  full  of  foul  air. 
They  found  him  dead  at  the  bottom  of  it.     So 
you  see,  there  is  only  me,  the  Chinaman,  the 
half-caste  woman  that  we  call  the  Memsahib 
(she  used  to  live  with  Fung-Tching),  the  other 
Eurasian,    and    one    of    the    Persians.      The 
Memsahib  looks  very  old  now.     I  think  she 
was    a    young    woman    when    the    Gate    was 
opened;  but  we  are  all  old  for  the  matter  of 
that.     Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  old. 
It  is  very  hard  to  keep  count  of  time  in  the 
Gate,  and,  besides,  time  doesn't  matter  to  me. 
I  draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every 
month.     A  very,  very  long  while  ago,  when  I 
used  to   be  getting  three  hundred   and   fifty 
rupees  a  month,  and  pickings,  on  a  big  timber- 
contract  at  Calcutta,  I  had  a  wife  of  sorts. 
But  she's  dead  now.     People  said  that  I  killed 
her  by  taking  to  the  Black  Smoke.     Perhaps 
I   did,  but  it's  so  long  since  that   it  doesn't 
matter.     Sometimes  when  I  first  came  to  the 


HUNDRED  SORROWS  389 

Gate,  I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  it ;  but  that's  all 
over  and  done  with  long  ago,  and  I  draw  my 
sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every  month,  and 
am  quite  happy.  Not  drunk  happy,  you  know, 
but  always  quiet  and  soothed  and  contented. 

How  did  I  take  to  it  ?    It  began  at  Calcutta. 
I  used  to  try  it  in  my  own  house,  just  to  see 
what  it  was  like.    I  never  went  very  far,  but  I 
think  my  wife  must  have  died  then.    Anyhow, 
I  found  myself  here,  and  got  to  know  Fung- 
Tching.     I  don't  remember  rightly  how  that 
came  about;  but  he  told  me  of  the  Gate  and  I 
used  to  go  there,  and,  somehow,  I  have  never 
got  away  from  it  since.     Mind  you,  though, 
the   Gate   was   a   respectable  place   in   Fung- 
Tching's  time,  where  you  could  be  comfortable, 
and  not  at  all  like  the  chandoo-khanas  where 
the  niggers  go.     No;  it  was  clean  and  quiet, 
and    not    crowded.      Of    course,    there    were 
others  beside  us  ten  and  the  man;  but  we  al- 
ways had  a  mat  apiece,  with  a  wadded  woolen 
headpiece,    all    covered    with    black    and    red 
dragons  and  things;  just  like  the  coffin  in  the 
corner. 

At  the  end  of  one's  third  pipe  the  dragons 
used  to  move  about  and  fight.  I've  watched 
'em  many  and  many  a  night  through.  I  used 
to  regulate  my  Smoke  that  way,  now  it  takes 


39o  THE  GATE  OF  THE 

a  dozen  pipes  to  make  'em  stir.  Besides, 
they  are  all  torn  and  dirty,  like  the  mats, 
and  old  Fung-Tching  is  dead.  He  died  a 
couple  of  years  ago,  and  gave  me  the  pipe  I 
always  use  now — a  silver  one,  with  queer 
beasts  crawling  up  and  down  the  receiver- 
bottle  below  the  cup.  Before  that,  I  think,  I 
used  a  big  bamboo  stem  with  a  copper  cup,  a 
very  small  one,  and  a  green  jade  mouthpiece. 
It  was  a  little  thicker  than  a  walking-stick 
stem,  and  smoked  sweet,  very  sweet.  The 
bamboo  seemed  to  suck  up  the  smoke.  Silver 
doesn't,  and  I've  got  to  clean  it  out  now  and 
then,  that's  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but  I  smoke 
it  for  the  old  man's  sake.  He  must  have  made 
a  good  thing  out  of  me,  but  he  always  gave  me 
clean  mats  and  pillows,  and  the  best  stuff  you 
could  get  anywhere. 

When  he  died,  his  nephew  Tsin-ling  took  up 
the  Gate,  and  he  called  it  the  "Temple  of  the 
Three  Possessions" ;  but  we  old  ones  speak  of 
it  as  the  "Hundred  Sorrows,"  all  the  same. 
The  nephew  does  things  very  shabbily,  and  I 
think  the  Memsahib  must  help  him.  She  lives 
with  him ;  same  as  she  used  to  do  with  the  old 
man.  The  two  let  in  all  sorts  of  low  people, 
niggers  and  all,  and  the  Black  Smoke  isn't  as 
good  as  it  used  to  be.     I've  found  burned  bran 


HUNDRED  SORROWS  391 

in  my  pipe  over  and  over  again.  The  old  man 
would  have  died  if  that  had  happened  in  his 
time.  Besides,  the  room  is  never  cleaned,  and 
all  the  mats  are  torn  and  cut  at  the  edges.  The 
coffin  is  gone — gone  to  China  again — with  the 
old  man  and  two  ounces  of  Smoke  inside  it, 
in  case  he  should  want  'em  on  the  way. 

The  Joss  doesn't  get  so  many  sticks  burned 
under  his  nose  as  he  used  to;  that's  a  sign  of 
ill-luck,  as  sure  as  Death.  He's  all  brown,  too, 
and  no  one  ever  attends  to  him.  That's  the 
Mem-sahib' s  work.  I  know;  because,  when 
Tsin-ling  tried  to  burn  gilt  paper  before  him, 
she  said  it  was  a  waste  of  money,  and,  if  he 
kept  a  stick  burning  very  slowly,  the  Joss 
wouldn't  know  the  difference.  So  we've  got 
the  sticks  mixed  with  a  lot  of  glue,  and  they 
take  half  an  hour  longer  to  burn,  and  smell 
stinky.  Let  alone  the  smell  of  the  room  by 
itself.  No  business  can  get  on  if  they  try  that 
sort  of  thing.  The  Joss  doesn't  like  it.  I  can 
see  that.  Late  at  night,  sometimes,  he  turns 
all  sorts  of  queer  colors — blue  and  green  and 
red — just  as  he  used  to  do  when  old  Fung- 
Tching  was  alive;  and  he  rolls  his  eyes  and 
stamps  his  feet  like  a  devil. 

I  don't  know  why  I  don't  leave  the  place 
and  smoke  quietly  in  a  little  room  of  my  own 


392  THE  GATE  OF  THE 

in  the  bazar.  Most  like,  Tsing-ling  would  kill 
me  if  I  went  away — he  draws  my  sixty  rupees 
now — and  besides,  it's  so  much  trouble,  and 
I've  grown  to  be  very  fond  of  the  Gate.  It's 
not  much  to  look  at.  Not  what  it  was  in  the 
old  man's  time,  but  I  couldn't  leave  it.  I've 
seen  so  many  come  in  and  out.  And  I've  seen 
so  many  die  here  on  the  mats  that  I  should  be 
afraid  of  dying  in  the  open  now.  I've  seen 
some  things  that  people  would  call  strange 
enough;  but  nothing  is  strange  when  you're 
on  the  Black  Smoke,  except  the  Black  Smoke. 
And  if  it  was,  it  wouldn't  matter.  Fung- 
Tching  used  to  be  very  particular  about  his 
people,  and  never  got  in  any  one  who'd  give 
trouble  by  dying  messy  and  such.  But  the 
nephew  isn't  half  so  careful.  He  tells  every- 
where that  he  keeps  a  "first-chop"  house. 
Never  tries  to  get  men  in  quietly,  and  make 
them  comfortable  like  Fung-Tching  did. 
That's  why  the  Gate  is  getting  a  little  bit  more 
known  than  it  used  to  be.  Among  the  nig- 
gers of  course.  The  nephew  daren't  get  a 
white,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  a  mixed  skin 
into  the  place.  He  has  to  keep  us  three  of 
course — me  and  the  Memsahib  and  the  other 
Eurasian.  We're  fixtures.  But  he  wouldn't 
give  us  credit  for  a  pipeful — not  for  anything. 


HUNDRED  SORROWS  393 

One  of  these  days,  I  hope,  I  shall  die  in  the 
Gate.  The  Persian  and  the  Madras  man  are 
terribly  shaky  now.  They've  got  a  boy  to  light 
their  pipes  for  them.  I  always  do  that  myself. 
Most  like,  I  shall  see  them  carried  out  before 
me.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  outlive  the 
Memsahib  or  Tsin-ling.  Women  last  longer 
than  men  at  the  Black  Smoke,  and  Tsin-ling 
has  a  deal  of  the  old  man's  blood  in  him, 
though  he  does  smoke  cheap  stuff.  The  bazar- 
woman  knew  when  she  was  going  two  days 
before  her  time;  and  she  died  on  a  clean  mat 
with  a  nicely  wadded  pillow,  and  the  old  man 
hung  up  her  pipe  just  above  the  Joss.  He  was 
always  fond  of  her,  I  fancy.  But  he  took  her 
bangles  just  the  same. 

I  should  like  to  die  like  the  bazar-woman — 
on  a  clean,  cool  mat  with  a  pipe  of  good  stuff 
between  my  lips.  When  I  feel  I'm  going,  I 
shall  ask  Tsin-ling  for  them,  and  he  can  draw 
my  sixty  rupees  a  month,  fresh  and  fresh,  as 
long  as  he  pleases.  Then  I  shall  lie  back,  quiet 
and  comfortable,  and  watch  the  black  and  red 
dragons  have  their  last  fight  together;  and 
then     .     .     . 

Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing  matters 
much  to  me — only  I  wish  Tsin-ling  wouldn't 
put  bran  into  the  Black  Smoke. 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN 

Who  is  the  happy  man?  He  that  sees  in  his  own 
house  at  home,  little  children  crowned  with  dust,  leap- 
ing and  falling  and  crying. — Munichandra,  translated 
by  Professor  Peterson. 

THE  polo-ball  was  an  old  one,  scarred, 
chipped,  and  dinted.  It  stood  on  the 
mantelpiece  among  the  pipe-stems  which  Imam 
Din,  khitmatgar,  was  cleaning  for  me. 

"Does  the  Heaven-born  want  this  ball?" 
said  Imam  Din,  deferentially. 

The  Heaven-born  set  no  particular  store  by 
it;  but  of  what  use  was  a  polo-ball  to  a  khit- 
matgar? 

"By  your  Honor's  favor,  I  have  a  little  son. 
He  has  seen  this  ball,  and  desires  it  to  play 
with.    I  do  not  want  it  for  myself." 

No  one  would  for  an  instant  accuse  portly 
old  Imam  Din  of  wanting  to  play  with  polo- 
balls.  He  carried  out  the  battered  thing  into 
the  veranda;  and  there  followed  a  hurricane 
of  joyful  squeaks,  a  patter  of  small  feet,  and 
the  thud-thud-thud  of  the  ball  rolling  along 
397 


398  THE  STORY  OF 

the  ground.  Evidently  the  little  son  had  been 
waiting  outside  the  door  to  secure  his  treasure. 
But  how  had  he  managed  to  see  that  polo-ball  ? 

Next  day,  coming  back  from  office  half  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual,  I  was  aware  of  a  small 
figure  in  the  dining-room — a  tiny,  plump  figure 
in  a  ridiculously  inadequate  shirt  which  came, 
perhaps,  half-way  down  the  tubby  stomach.  It 
wandered  round  the  room,  thumb  in  mouth, 
crooning  to  itself  as  it  took  stock  of  the  pic- 
tures.   Undoubtedly  this  was  the  "little  son." 

He  had  no  business  in  my  room,  of  course; 
but  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  discoveries 
that  he  never  noticed  me  in  the  doorway.  I 
stepped  into  the  room  and  startled  him  nearly 
into  a  fit.  He  sat  down  on  the  ground  with  a 
gasp.  His  eyes  opened,  and  his  mouth  fol- 
lowed suit.  I  knew  what  was  coming,  and  fled, 
followed  by  a  long,  dry  howl  which  reached 
the  servants'  quarters  far  more  quickly  than 
any  command  of  mine  had  ever  done.  In  ten 
seconds  Imam  Din  was  in  the  dining-room. 
Then  despairing  sobs  arose,  and  I  returned  to 
find  Imam  Din  admonishing  the  small  sinner 
who  was  using  most  of  his  shirt  as  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

"This  boy,"  said  Imam  Din,  judicially,  "is  a 
budmash — a  big  budmash.     He  will,  without 


MUHAMMAD  DIN  399 

doubt,  go  to  the  jail-khana  for  his  behavior." 
Renewed  yells  from  the  penitent,  and  an  elab- 
orate apology  to  myself  from  Imam  Din. 

"Tell  the  baby,"  said  I,  "that  the  Sahib  is 
not  angry,  and  take  him  away."  Imam  Din 
conveyed  my  forgiveness  to  the  offender,  who 
had  now  gathered  all  his  shirt  round  his  neck, 
stringwise,  and  the  yell  subsided  into  a  sob. 
The  two  set  off  for  the  door.  "His  name," 
said  Imam  Din,  as  though  the  name  were  part 
of  the  crime,  "is  Muhammad  Din,  and  he  is  a 
budmash."  Freed  from  present  danger, 
Muhammad  Din  turned  round  in  his  father's 
arms,  and  said  gravely,  "It  is  true  that  my 
name  is  Muhammad  Din,  Tahib,  but  I  am  not 
a  budmash.     I  am  a  man!" 

From  that  day  dated  my  acquaintance  with 
Muhammad  Din.  Never  again  did  he  come 
into  my  dining-room,  but  on  the  neutral 
ground  of  the  garden,  we  greeted  each  other 
with  much  state,  though  our  conversation  was 
confined  to  "Talaam,  Tahib"  from  his  side, 
and  "Salaam,  Muhammad  Din"  from  mine. 
Daily  on  my  return  from  office,  the  little  white 
shirt,  and  the  fat  little  body  used  to  rise  from 
the  shade  of  the  creeper-covered  trellis  where 
they  had  been  hid ;  and  daily  I  checked  my 
horse  here,  that  my  salutation  might  not  be 
slurred  over  or  given  unseemly. 


400 


THE  STORY  OF 


Muhammad  Din  never  had  any  companions. 
He  used  to  trot  about  the  compound,  in  and 
out  of  the  castor-oil  bushes,  on  mysterious 
errands  of  his  own.  One  day  I  stumbled  upon 
some  of  his  handiwork  far  down  the  grounds. 
He  had  half  buried  the  polo-ball  in  dust,  and 
stuck  six  shriveled  old  marigold  flowers  in  a 
circle  round  it.  Outside  that  circle  again  was 
a  rude  square,  traced  out  in  bits  of  red  brick 
alternating  with  fragments  of  broken  china; 
the  whole  bounded  by  a  little  bank  of  dust. 
The  water-man  from  the  well-curb  put  in  a 
plea  for  the  small  architect,  saying  that  it  was 
only  the  play  of  a  baby  and  did  not  much  dis- 
figure my  garden. 

Heaven  knows  that  I  had  no  intention  of 
touching  the  child's  work  then  or  later;  but, 
that  evening,  a  stroll  through  the  garden 
brought  me  unawares  full  on  it;  so  that  I 
trampled,  before  I  knew,  marigold-heads,  dust- 
bank,  and  fragments  of  broken  soap-dish  into 
confusion  past  all  hope  of  mending.  Next 
morning,  I  came  upon  Muhammad  Din  crying 
softly  to  himself  over  the  ruin  I  had  wrought. 
Some  one  had  cruelly  told  him  that  the  Sahib 
was  very  angry  with  him  for  spoiling  the  gar- 
den, and  had  scattered  his  rubbish,  using  bad 
language  the  while.     Muhammad  Din  labored 


MUHAMMAD  DIN  401 

for  an  hour  at  effacing  every  trace  of  the  dust- 
bank  and  pottery  fragments,  and  it  was  with  a 
tearful  and  apologetic  face  that  he  said 
"Talaam,  Tahib,"  when  I  came  home  from 
office.  A  hasty  inquiry  resulted  in  Imam  Din 
informing  Muhammad  Din  that,  by  my  singu- 
lar favor,  he  was  permitted  to  disport  himself 
as  he  pleased.  Whereat  the  child  took  heart 
and  fell  to  tracing  the  ground-plan  of  an  edi- 
fice which  was  to  eclipse  the  marigold-polo- 
ball  creation. 

For  some  months,  the  chubby  little  eccen- 
tricity revolved  in  his  humble  orbit  among  the 
castor-oil  bushes  and  in  the  dust ;  always  fash- 
ioning magnificent  palaces  from  stale  flowers 
thrown  away  by  the  bearer,  smooth  water- 
worn  pebbles,  bits  of  broken  glass,  and  feathers 
pulled,  I  fancy,  from  my  fowls — always  alone, 
and  always  crooning  to  himself. 

A  gaily-spotted  sea-shell  was  dropped  one 
day  close  to  the  last  of  his  little  buildings ;  and 
I  looked  that  Muhammad  Din  should  build 
something  more  than  ordinarily  splendid  on 
the  strength  of  it.  Nor  was  I  disappointed. 
He  meditated  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour, 
and  his  crooning  rose  to  a  jubilant  song.  Then 
he  began  tracing  in  the  dust.  It  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  wondrous  palace,  this  one,  for  it 


402  MUHAMMAD  DIN 

was  two  yards  long  and  a  yard  broad  in 
ground-plan.  But  the  palace  was  never  com- 
pleted. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Muhammad  Din  at 
the  head  of  the  carriage-drive,  and  no 
"Talaam,  Tahib"  to  welcome  my  return.  I 
had  grown  accustomed  to  the  greeting,  and  its 
omission  troubled  me.  Next  day  Imam  Din 
told  me  that  the  child  was  suffering  slightly 
from  fever  and  needed  quinine.  He  got  the 
medicine,  and  an  English  Doctor. 

"They  have  no  stamina,  these  brats,"  said 
the  Doctor,  as  he  left  Imam  Din's  quarters. 

A  week  later,  though  I  would  have  given 
much  to  have  avoided  it,  I  met  on  the  road  to 
the  Mussulman  burying-ground  Imam  Din,  ac- 
companied by  one  other  friend,  carrying  in 
his  arms,  wrapped  in  a  white  cloth,  all  that  was 
left  of  little  Muhammad  Din. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS 

If  your  mirror  be  broken,  look  into  still  water;  but 
have  a  care  that  you  do  not  fall  in. — Hindu  Proverb. 

"^/TEXT  to  a  requited  attachment,  one  of  the 
■*•  ^  most  convenient  things  that  a  young  man 
can  carry  about  with  him  at  the  beginning  of 
his  career,  is  an  unrequited  attachment.  It 
makes  him  feel  important  and  business-like, 
and  blase,  and  cynical ;  and  whenever  he  has 
a  touch  of  liver,  or  suffers  from  want  of  exer- 
cise, he  can  mourn  over  his  lost  love,  and  be 
very  happy  in  a  tender,  twilight  fashion. 

Hannasyde's  affair  of  the  heart  had  been  a 
godsend  to  him.  It  was  four  years  old,  and 
the  girl  had  long  since  given  up  thinking  of  it. 
She  had  married  and  had  many  cares  of  her 
own.  In  the  beginning,  she  had  told  Hanna- 
syde  that,  "while  she  could  never  be  anything 
more  than  a  sister  to  him,  she  would  always 
take  the  deepest  interest  in  his  welfare."  This 
startlingly  new  and  original  remark  gave 
Hannasyde  something  to  think  over  for  two 
405 


406  ON  THE  STRENGTH 

years;  and  his  own  vanity  filled  in  the  other 
twenty-four  months.  Hannasyde  was  quite 
different  from  Phil  Garron,  but,  none  the  less, 
had  several  points  in  common  with  that  far  too 
lucky  man. 

He  kept  his  unrequited  attachment  by  him 
as  men  keep  a  well-smoked  pipe — for  com- 
fort's sake,  and  because  it  had  grown  dear  in 
the  using.  It  brought  him  happily  through 
one  Simla  season.  Hannasyde  was  not  lovely. 
There  was  a  crudity  in  his  manners,  and  a 
roughness  in  the  way  in  which  he  helped  a 
lady  on  to  her  horse,  that  did  not  attract  the 
other  sex  to  him.  Even  if  he  had  cast  about 
for  their  favor,  which  he  did  not.  He  kept 
his  wounded  heart  all  to  himself  for  a  while. 

Then  trouble  came  to  him.  All  who  go  to 
Simla  know  the  slope  from  the  Telegraph  to 
the  Public  Works  Office.  Hannasyde  was 
loafing  up  the  hill,  one  September  morning  be- 
tween calling  hours,  when  a  'rickshaw  came 
down  in  a  hurry,  and  in  the  'rickshaw  sat  the 
living,  breathing  image  of  the  girl  who  had 
made  him  so  happily  unhappy.  Hannasyde 
leaned  against  the  railings  and  gasped.  He 
wanted  to  run  down  hill  after  the  'rickshaw, 
but  that  was  impossible;  so  he  went  forward 
with  most  of  his  blood  in  his  temples.     It  was 


OF  A  LIKENESS  407 

impossible,  for  many  reasons,  that  the  woman 
in  the  'rickshaw  could  be  the  girl  he  had 
known.  She  was,  he  discovered  later,  the  wife 
of  a  man  from  Dindigul,  or  Coimbatore,  or 
some  out-of-the-way  place,  and  she  had  come 
up  to  Simla  early  in  the  season  for  the  good  of 
her  health.  She  was  going  back  to  Dindigul, 
or  wherever  it  was,  at  the  end  of  the  season; 
and  in  all  likelihood  would  never  return  to 
Simla  again;  her  proper  Hill-station  being 
Ootacamund.  That  night  Hannasyde,  raw 
and  savage  from  the  raking  up  of  all  old  feel- 
ings, took  counsel  with  himself  for  one  meas- 
ured hour.  What  he  dicided  upon  was  this; 
and  you  must  decide  for  yourself  how  much 
genuine  affection  for  the  old  Love,  and  how 
much  a  very  natural  inclination  to  go  abroad 
and  enjoy  himself,  affected  the  decision.  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert  would  never  in  all  human 
likelihood  cross  his  path  again.  So  whatever 
he  did  didn't  much  matter.  She  was  marvel- 
ously  like  the  girl  who  "took  a  deep  interest" 
and  the  rest  of  the  formula.  All  things  con- 
sidered, it  would  be  pleasant  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  for 
a  little  time — only  a  very  little  time — to  make 
believe  that  he  was  with  Alice  Chisane  again. 
Every  one  is  more  or  less  mad  on  one  point. 


408  ON  THE  STRENGTH 

Hannasyde's    particular   monomania   was   his 
old  love,  Alice  Chisane. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  get  introduced 
to  Mrs.  Haggert,  and  the  introduction  pros- 
pered. He  also  made  it  his  business  to  see  as 
much  as  he  could  of  that  lady.  When  a  man 
is  in  earnest  as  to  interviews,  the  facilities 
which  Simla  offers  are  startling.  There  are 
garden-parties,  and  tennis-parties,  and  picnics, 
and  luncheons  at  Annandale,  and  rifle- 
matches,  and  dinners  and  balls;  besides  rides 
and  walks,  which  are  matters  of  private  ar- 
rangement. Hannasyde  had  started  with  the 
intention  of  seeing  a  likeness,  and  he  ended  by 
doing  much  more.  He  wanted  to  be  deceived, 
he  meant  to  be  deceived,  and  he  deceived  him- 
self very  thoroughly.  Not  only  were  the  face 
and  figure  the  face  and  figure  of  Alice  Chisane, 
but  the  voice  and  lower  tones  were  exactly  the 
same,  and  so  were  the  turns  of  speech ;  and  the 
little  mannerisms,  that  every  woman  has,  of 
gait  and  gesticulation,  were  absolutely  and 
identically  the  same.  The  turn  of  the  head 
was  the  same ;  the  tired  look  in  the  eyes  at  the 
end  of  a  long  walk  was  the  same;  the  stoop- 
and-wrench  over  the  saddle  to  hold  in  a  pulling 
horse  was  the  same ;  and  once,  most  marvelous 
of  all,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  singing  to  her- 


OF  A  LIKENESS  4°9 

self  in  the  next  room,  while  Hannasyde  was 
waiting  to  take  her  for  a  ride,  hummed,  note 
for  note,  with  a  throaty  quiver  of  the  voice  in 
the  second  line,  "Poor  Wandering  One!"  ex- 
actly as  Alice  Chisane  had  hummed  it  for  Han- 
nasyde in  the  dusk  of  an  English  drawing- 
room.  In  the  actual  woman  herself — in  the 
soul  of  her — there  was  not  the  least  likeness; 
she  and  Alice  Chisane  being  cast  in  different 
moulds.  But  all  that  Hannasyde  wanted  to 
know  and  see  and  think  about,  was  this  mad- 
dening and  perplexing  likeness  of  face  and 
voice  and  manner.  He  was  bent  on  making 
a  fool  of  himself  that  way;  and  he  was  in  no 
sort  disappointed. 

Open  and  obvious  devotion  from  any  sort 
of  man  is  always  pleasant  to  any  sort  of 
woman;  but  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  being  a 
woman  of  the  world,  could  make  nothing  of 
Hannasyde's  admiration. 

He  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble — he 
was  a  selfish  man  habitually — to  meet  and 
forestall,  if  possible  her  wishes.  Anything 
she  told  him  to  do  was  law ;  and  he  was,  there 
could  be  no  doubting  it,  fond  of  her  company 
so  long  as  she  talked  to  him,  and  kept  on  talk- 
ing about  trivialities.  But  when  she  launched 
into  expression  of  her  personal  views  and  her 


410  ON  THE  STRENGTH 

wrongs,  those  small  social  differences  that 
make  the  spice  of  Simla  life,  Hannasyde  was 
neither  pleased  nor  interested.  He  didn't 
want  to  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert,  or  her  experiences  in  the  past — she 
had  traveled  nearly  all  over  the  world,  and 
could  talk  cleverly — he  wanted  the  likeness  of 
Alice  Chisane  before  his  eyes  and  her  voice  in 
his  ears.  Anything  outside  that,  reminding 
him  of  another  personality,  jarred,  and  he 
showed  that  it  did. 

Under  the  new  Post  Office,  one  evening, 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  turned  on  him,  and 
spoke  her  mind  shortly  and  without  warning. 
"Mr.  Hannasyde,"  said  she,  "will  you  be  good 
enough  to  explain  why  you  have  appointed 
yourself  my  special  cavalier  serventef  I  don't 
understand  it.  But  I  am  perfectly  certain, 
somehow  or  other,  that  you  don't  care  the 
least  little  bit  in  the  world  for  me."  This 
seems  to  support,  by  the  way,  the  theory  that 
no  man  can  act  or  tell  lies  to  a  woman  without 
being  found  out.-  Hannasyde  was  taken  off 
his  guard.  His  defence  never  was  a  strong 
one,  because  he  was  always  thinking  of  him- 
self, and  he  blurted  out,  before  he  knew  what 
he  was  saying,  this  inexpedient  answer,  "No 
more  I  do." 


OF  A  LIKENESS  411 

The  queerness  of  the  situation  and  the  re- 
ply, made  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  laugh.  Then 
it  all  came  out ;  and  at  the  end  of  Hannasyde's 
lucid  explanation  Mrs.  Haggart  said,  with  the 
least  little  touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice,  "So  I'm 
to  act  as  the  lay-figure  for  you  to  hang  the 
rags  of  your  tattered  affections  on,  am  I?" 

Hannasyde  didn't  see  what  answer  was  re- 
quired, and  he  devoted  himself  generally  and 
vaguely  to  the  praise  of  Alice  Chisane,  which 
was  unsatisfactory.  Now  it  is  to  be  thor- 
oughly made  clear  that  Mrs.  Haggert  had  not 
the  shadow  of  a  ghost  of  an  interest  in  Han- 
nasyde. Only  .  .  .  only  no  woman  likes 
being  made  love  through  instead  of  to — spe- 
cially on  behalf  of  a  musty  divinity  of  four 
years'  standing. 

Hannasyde  did  not  see  that  he  had  made 
any  very  particular  exhibition  of  himself.  He 
was  glad  to  find  a  sympathetic  soul  in  the  arid 
wastes  of  Simla. 

When  the  season  ended,  Hannasyde  went 
down  to  his  own  place  and  Mrs.  Haggert  to 
hers.  "It  was  like  making  love  to  a  ghost," 
said  Hannasyde  to  himself,  "and  it  doesn't 
matter;  and  now  I'll  get  to  my  work."  But 
he  found  himself  thinking  steadily  of  the  Hag- 
gert-Chisane  ghost;  and  he  could  not  be  cer- 


4i2  ON  THE  STRENGTH 

tain  whether  it  was  Haggert  or  Chisane  that 
made  up  the  greater  part  of  the  pretty  phan- 
tom. 

He  got  understanding  a  month  later. 

A  peculiar  point  of  this  particular  country- 
is  the  way  in  which  a  heartless  Govern- 
ment transfers  men  from  one  end  of  the  Em- 
pire to  the  other.  You  can  never  be  sure  of 
getting  rid  of  a  friend  or  an  enemy  till  he  or 
she  dies.  There  was  a  case  once — but  that's 
another  story. 

Haggert's  Department  ordered  him  up  from 
Dindigul  to  the  Frontier  at  two  days'  notice, 
and  he  went  through,  losing  money  at  every 
step,  from  Dindigul  to  his  station.  He 
dropped  Mrs.  Haggert  at  Lucknow,  to  stay 
with  some  friends  there,  to  take  part  in  a  big 
ball  at  the  Chutter  Munzil,  and  to  come  on 
when  he  had  made  the  new  home  a  little  com- 
fortable. Lucknow  was  Hannasyde's  station, 
and  Mrs.  Haggert  stayed  a  week  there.  Han- 
nasyde  went  to  meet  her.  As  the  train  came 
in,  he  discovered  what  he  had  been  thinking 
of  for  the  past  month.  The  unwisdom  of  his 
conduct  also  struck  him.  The  Lucknow  week, 
with  two  dances,  and  an  unlimited  quantity  of 
rides  together,  clinched  matters;  and  Hanna- 


OF  A  LIKENESS  413 

syde  found  himself  pacing  this  circle  of 
thought: — He  adored  Alice  Chisane,  at  least 
he  had  adored  her.  And  he  admired  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert  because  she  was  like  Alice 
Chisane.  But  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  was  not 
in  the  least  like  Alice  Chisane,  being  a  thou- 
sand times  more  adorable.  Now  Alice  Chi- 
sane was  "the  bride  of  another,"  and  so  was 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  a  good  and  honest 
wife  too.  Therefore,  he,  Hannasyde,  was 
here  he  called  himself  several  hard 
names,  and  wished  that  he  had  been  wise  in 
the  beginning. 

Whether  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  saw  what 
was  going  on  in  his  mind,  she  alone  knows. 
He  seemed  to  take  an  unqualified  interest  in 
everything  connected  with  herself,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  Alice-Chisane  likeness,  and 
he  said  one  or  two  things  which,  if  Alice  Chi- 
sane had  been  still  betrothed  to  him,  could 
scarcely  have  been  excused,  even  on  the 
grounds  of  the  likeness.  But  Mrs.  Haggert 
turned  the  remarks  aside,  and  spent  a  long 
time  in  making  Hannasyde  see  what  a  com- 
fort and  a  pleasure  she  had  been  to  him  be- 
cause of  her  strange  resemblance  to  his-  old 
love.  Hannasyde  groaned  in  his  saddle  and 
said,  "Yes,  indeed,"  and  busied  himself  with 


414  ON  THE  STRENGTH 

preparations  for  her  departure  to  the  Frontier, 
feeling-  very  small  and  miserable. 

The  last  day  of  her  stay  at  Lucknow  came, 
and  Hannasyde  saw  her  off  at  the  Railway 
Station.  She  was  very  grateful  for  his  kind- 
ness and  the  trouble  he  had  taken,  and  smiled 
pleasantly  and  sympathetically  as  one  who 
knew  the  Alice  Chisane  reason  of  that  kind- 
ness. And  Hannasyde  abused  the  coolies  with 
the  luggage,  and  hustled  the  people  on  the  plat- 
form, and  prayed  that  the  roof  might  fall  in 
and  slay  him. 

As  the  train  went  out  slowly,  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  leaned  out  of  the  window  to  say 
good-bye — "On  second  thoughts  au  revoir, 
Mr.  Hannasyde.  I  go  Home  in  the  Spring, 
and  perhaps  I  may  meet  you  in  Town." 

Hannasyde  shook  hands,  and  said  very  ear- 
nestly and  adoringly — "I  hope  to  Heaven  I 
shall  never  see  your  face  again!" 

And  Mrs.  Haggert  understood. 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 

I  closed  and  drew  for  my  Love's  sake, 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 
And  I  slew  the  Riever  of  Tarrant  Moss, 

And  set  Dumeny  free. 

And  ever  they  give  me  praise  and  gold, 

And  ever  I  moan  my  loss ; 
For  I  struck  the  blow  for  my  false  Love's  sake, 
And  not  for  the  men  of  Moss ! 

— Tarrant  Moss. 

ONE  of  the  many  curses  of  our  life  in  In- 
dia is  the  want  of  atmosphere  in  the 
painter's  sense.  There  are  no  half-tints  worth 
noticing.  Men  stand  out  all  crude  and  raw, 
with  nothing  to  tone  them  down,  and  nothing 
to  scale  them  against.  They  do  their  work, 
and  grow  to  think  that  there  is  nothing  but 
their  work,  and  nothing  like  their  work,  and 
that  they  are  the  real  pivots  on  which  the  Ad- 
ministration turns.  Here  is  an  instance  of 
this  feeling.  A  half-caste  clerk  was  ruling 
forms  in  a  Pay  Office.  He  said  to  me,  "Do 
417 


41 8  WRESSLEY  OF  THE 

you  know  what  would  happen  if  I  added  or 
took  away  one  single  line  on  this  sheet?" 
Then,  with  the  air  of  a  conspirator,  "It  would 
disorganize  the  whole  of  the  Treasury  pay- 
ments throughout  the  whole  of  the  Presidency 
Circle!    Think  of  that !" 

If  men  had  not  this  delusion  as  to  the  ultra- 
importance  of  their  own  particular  employ- 
ments, I  suppose  that  they  would  sit  down 
and  kill  themselves.  But  their  weakness  is 
wearisome,  particularly  when  the  listener 
knows  that  he  himself  commits  exactly  the 
same  sin. 

Even  the  Secretariat  believes  that  it  does 
good  when  it  asks  an  over-driven  Executive 
Officer  to  take  a  census  of  wheat-weevils 
through  a  district  of  five  thousand  square 
miles. 

There  was  a  man  once  in  the  Foreign  Office 
— a  man  who  had  grown  middle-aged  in  the 
Department,  and  was  commonly  said,  by  irrev- 
erent juniors,  to  be  able  to  repeat  Aitchison's 
Treaties  and  Sunnuds  backward  in  his  sleep. 
What  he  did  with  his  stored  knowledge  only 
the  Secretary  knew;  and  he,  naturally,  would 
not  publish  the  news  abroad.  This  man's  name 
was  Wressley,  and  it  was  the  Shibboleth,  in 
those   days,   to   say — "Wressley  knows   more 


FOREIGN  OFFICE  419 

about  the  Central  Indian  States  than  any  living 
man."  If  you  did  not  say  this,  you  were  con- 
sidered one  of  mean  understanding. 

Nowadays,  the  man  who  says  that  he  knows 
the  ravel  of  the  inter-tribal  complications 
across  the  Border  is  more  of  use;  but,  in 
Wressley's  time,  much  attention  was  paid  to 
the  Central  Indian  States.  They  were  called 
"foci"  and  "factors,"  and  all  manner  of  impos- 
ing names. 

And  here  the  curse  of  Anglo-Indian  life  fell 
heavily.  When  Wressley  lifted  up  his  voice, 
and  spoke  about  such-and-such  a  succession  to 
such-and-such  a  throne,  the  Foreign  Office 
were  silent,  and  Heads  of  Departments  re- 
peated the  last  two  or  three  words  of  Wress- 
ley's sentences,  and  tacked  "yes,  yes,"  on  to 
them,  and  knew  that  they  were  assisting  the 
Empire  to  grapple  with  serious  political  con- 
tingencies. In  most  big  undertakings,  one  or 
two  men  do  the  work  while  the  rest  sit  near 
and  talk  till  the  ripe  decorations  begin  to  fall. 

Wressley  was  the  working-member  of  the 
Foreign  Office  firm,  and,  to  keep  him  up  to  his 
duties  when  he  showed  signs  of  flagging,  he 
was  made  much  of  by  his  superiors  and  told 
what  a  fine  fellow  he  was.  He  did  not  require 
coaxing,  because  he  was  of  tough  build,  but 


420  WRESSLEY  OF  THE 

what  he  received  confirmed  him  in  the  belief 
that  there  was  no  one  quite  so  absolutely  and 
imperatively  necessary  to  the  stability  of  India 
as  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office.  There 
might  be  other  good  men,  but  the  known,  hon- 
ored and  trusted  man  among  men  was  Wress- 
ley of  the  Foreign  Office.  We  had  a  Viceroy 
in  those  days  who  knew  exactly  when  to  "gen- 
tle" a  fractious  big  man,  and  to  hearten-up  a 
collar-galled  little  one,  and  so  keep  all  his  team 
level.  He  conveyed  to  Wressley  the  impres- 
sion which  I  have  just  set  down;  and  even 
tough  men  are  apt  to  be  disorganized  by  a 
Viceroy's  praise.  There  was  a  case  once — but 
that  is  another  story. 

All  India  knew  Wressley's  name  and  office 
— it  was  in  Thacker  and  Spink's  Directory — 
but  who  he  was  personally,  or  what  he  did, 
or  what  his  special  merits  were,  not  fifty  men 
knew  or  cared.  His  work  filled  all  his  time, 
and  he  found  no  leisure  to  cultivate  acquaint- 
ances beyond  those  of  dead  Rajput  chiefs  with 
Ahir  blots  in  their  scutcheons.  Wressley 
would  have  made  a  very  good  Clerk  in  the 
Herald's  College  had  he  not  been  a  Bengal  Ci- 
vilian. 

Upon  a  day,  between  office  and  office,  great 
trouble  came  to  Wressley — overwhelmed  him, 


FOREIGN  OFFICE  421 

knocked  him  down,  and  left  him  gasping  as 
though  he  had  been  a  little  schoolboy.  With- 
out reason,  against  prudence,  and  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  he  fell  in  love  with  a  frivolous, 
golden-haired  girl  who  used  to  tear  about 
Simla  Mall  on  a  high,  rough  waler,  with  a  blue 
velvet  jockey-cap  crammed  over  her  eyes.  Her 
name  was  Venner — Tillie  Venner — and  she 
was  delightful.  She  took  Wressley's  heart  at 
a  hand-gallop,  and  Wressley  found  that  it  was 
not  good  for  man  to  live  alone;  even  with  half 
the  Foreign  Office  Records  in  his  presses. 

Then  Simla  laughed,  for  Wressley  in  love 
was  slightly  ridiculous.  He  did  his  best  to  in- 
terest the  girl  in  himself — that  is  to  say,  his 
work — and  she,  after  the  manner  of  women, 
did  her  best  to  appear  interested  in  what,  be- 
hind his  back,  she  called  "Mr.  Wressley's 
Wajahs";  for  she  lisped  very  prettily.  She 
did  not  understand  one  little  thing  about  them, 
but  she  acted  as  if  she  did.  Men  have  married 
on  that  sort  of  error  before  now. 

Providence,  however,  had  care  of  Wressley. 
He  was  immensely  struck  with  Miss  Vernier's 
intelligence.  He  would  have  been  more  im- 
pressed had  he  heard  her  private  and  confiden- 
tial accounts  of  his  calls.  He  held  peculiar  no- 
tions as  to  the  wooing  of  girls.     He  said  that 


422  WRESSLEY  OF  THE 

the  best  work  of  a  man's  career  should  be  laid 
reverently  at  their  feet.  Ruskin  writes  some- 
thing like  this  somewhere,  I  think;  but  in  or- 
dinary life  a  few  kisses  are  better  and  save 
time. 

About  a  month  after  he  had  lost  his  heart 
to  Miss  Venner,  and  had  been  doing  his  work 
vilely  in  consequence,  the  first  idea  of  his  Na- 
tive Rule  in  Central  India  struck  Wressley  and 
filled  him  with  joy.  It  was,  as  he  sketched  it, 
a  great  thing — the  work  of  his  life — a  really 
comprehensive  survey  of  a  most  fascinating 
subject — to  be  written  with  all  the  special  and 
laboriously  acquired  knowledge  of  Wressley 
of  the  Foreign  Office — a  gift  fit  for  an  Em- 
press. 

He  told  Miss  Venner  that  he  was  going  to 
take  leave,  and  hoped,  on  his  return,  to  bring 
her  a  present  worthy  of  her  acceptance. 
Would  she  wait?  Certainly  she  would. 
Wressley  drew  seventeen  hundred  rupees  a 
month.  She  would  wait  a  year  for  that.  Her 
Mamma  would  help  her  to  wait. 

So  Wressley  took  one  year's  leave  and  all 
the  available  documents,  about  a  truck-load, 
that  he  could  lay  hands  on,  and  went  down  to 
Central  India  with  his  notion  hot  in  his  head. 
He  began  his  book  in  the  land  he  was  writing 


FOREIGN  OFFICE  423 

of.  Too  much  official  correspondence  had 
made  him  a  frigid  workman,  and  he  must  have 
guessed  that  he  needed  the  white  light  of  local 
color  on  his  palette.  This  is  a  dangerous  paint 
for  amateurs  to  play  with. 

Heavens,  how  that  man  worked!  He 
caught  his  Rajahs,  analyzed  his  Rajahs,  and 
traced  them  up  into  the  mists  of  Time  and  be- 
yond, with  their  queens  and  their  concubines. 
He  dated  and  cross-dated,  pedigreed  and 
triple-pedigreed,  compared,  noted,  connoted, 
wove,  strung,  sorted,  selected,  inferred,  calen- 
dared and  counter-calendared  for  ten  hours  a 
day.  And,  because  this  sudden  and  new  light 
of  Love  was  upon  him,  he  turned  those  dry 
bones  of  history  and  dirty  records  of  misdeeds 
into  things  to  weep  or  to  laugh  over  as  he 
pleased.  His  heart  and  soul  were  at  the  end 
of  his  pen,  and  they  got  into  the  ink.  He  was 
dowered  with  sympathy,  insight,  humor,  and 
style  for  two  hundred  and  thirty  days  and 
nights ;  and  his  book  was  a  Book.  He  had  his 
vast  special  knowledge  with  him,  so  to  speak; 
but  the  spirit,  the  woven-in  human  Touch,  the 
poetry  and  the  power  of  the  output,  were  be- 
yond all  special  knowledge.  But  I  doubt 
whether  he  knew  the  gift  that  was  in  him  then, 
and  thus  he  may  have  lost  some  happiness.    He 


424  WRESSLEY  OF  THE 

was  toiling  for  Tillie  Venner,  not  for  himself. 
Men  often  do  their  best  work  blind,  for  some 
one  else's  sake. 

Also,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  story,  in  India,  where  every  one  knows 
every  one  else,  you  can  watch  men  being 
driven,  by  the  women  who  govern  them,  out 
of  the  rank-and-file  and  sent  to  take  up  points 
alone.  A  good  man,  once  started,  goes  for- 
ward ;  but  an  average  man,  as  soon  as  the 
woman  loses  interest  in  his  success  as  a  tribute 
to  her  power,  comes  back  to  the  battalion  and 
is  no  more  heard  of. 

Wressley  bore  the  first  copy  of  his  book  to 
Simla,  and,  blushing  and  stammering,  pre- 
sented it  to  Miss  Venner.  She  read  a  little  bit 
of  it.  I  give  her  review  verbatim — "Oh  your 
book?  It's  all  about  those  howwid  Wajahs. 
I  didn't  understand  it." 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  was  broken, 
smashed, — I  am  not  exaggerating — by  this  one 
frivolous  little  girl.  All  that  he  could  say 
feebly  was — "But — but  it's  my  magnum  opus! 
The  work  of  my  life."  Miss  Venner  did  not 
know  what  magnum  opus  meant ;  but  she  knew 
that  Captain  Kerrington  had  won  three  races 


FOREIGN  OFFICE  425 

at  the  last  Gymkhana.  Wressley  didn't  press 
her  to  wait  for  him  any  longer.  He  had  sense 
enough  for  that. 

Then  came  the  reaction  after  the  year's 
strain,  and  Wressley  went  back  to  the  Foreign 
Office  and  his  "Wajahs,"  a  compiling,  gazet- 
teering,  report-writing  hack,  who  would  have 
been  dear  at  three  hundred  rupees  a  month. 
He  abided  by  Miss  Venner's  review.  Which 
proves  that  the  inspiration  in  the  book  was 
purely  temporary  and  unconnected  with  him- 
self. Nevertheless,  he  had  no  right  to  sink, 
in  a  hill-tarn,  five  packing-cases,  brought  up 
at  enormous  expense  from  Bombay,  of  the 
best  book  of  Indian  history  ever  written. 

When  he  sold  off  before  retiring,  some  years 
later,  I  was  turning  over  his  shelves,  and  came 
across  the  only  existing  copy  of  Native  Rule  in 
Central  India — the  copy  that  Miss  Venner 
could  not  understand.  I  read  it,  sitting  on  his 
mule-trunks,  as  long  as  the  light  lasted,  and 
offered  him  his  own  price  for  it.  He  looked 
over  my  shoulder  for  a  few  pages  and  said  to 
himself  drearily — 

"Now,  how  in  the  world  did  I  come  to  write 
such  damned  good  stuff  as  that  ?" 

Then  to  me — 

"Take  it  and  keep  it.     Write  one  of  your 


426  WRESSLEY  OF  THE 

penny-farthing  yarns  about  its  birth.  Perhaps 
— perhaps — the  whole  business  may  have  been 
ordained  to  that  end." 

Which,  knowing  what  Wressley  of  the  For- 
eign Office  was  once,  struck  me  as  about  the 
bitterest  thing  that  I  had  ever  heard  a  man  say 
of  his  own  work. 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,    O  Sweet,  and  wail, 

A  spectre  at  my  door, 
Shall  mortal  Fear  make  Love  immortal  fail — 

I  shall  but  love  you  more, 
Who,  from  Death's  house  returning,  give  me  still 
One  moment's  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

— Shadow  Houses. 

*  I  VHIS  tale  may  be  explained  by  those  who 
■*■  know  how  souls  are  made,  and  where  the 
bounds  of  the  Possible  are  put  down.  I  have 
lived  long  enough  in  this  India  to  know  that  it 
is  best  to  know  nothing,  and  can  only  write 
the  story  as  it  happened. 

Dumoise  was  our  Civil  Surgeon  at  Meridki, 
and  we  called  him  "Dormouse,"  because  he 
was  a  round  little,  sleepy  little  man.  He  was  a 
good  Doctor  and  never  quarreled  with  any 
one,  not  even  with  our  Deputy  Commissioner 
who  had  the  manners  of  a  bargee  and  the  tact 
of  a  horse.  He  married  a  girl  as  round  and  as 
sleepy-looking  as  himself.  She  was  a  Miss 
429 


430  BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

Hillardyce,  daughter  of  "Squash"  Hillardyce 
of  the  Berars,  who  married  his  Chief's  daugh- 
ter by  mistake.    But  that  is  another  story. 

A  honeymoon  in  India  is  seldom  more  than 
a  week  long;  but  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a 
couple  from  extending  it  over  two  or  three 
years.  India  is  a  delightful  country  for  mar- 
ried folk  who  are  wrapped  up  in  one  another. 
They  can  live  absolutely  alone  and  without  in- 
terruption— just  as  the  Dormice  did.  Those 
two  little  people  retired  from  the  world  after 
their  marriage,  and  were  very  happy.  They 
were  forced,  of  course,  to  give  occasional  din- 
ners, but  they  made  no  friends  thereby,  and  the 
Station  went  its  own  way  and  forgot  them; 
only  saying,  occasionally,  that  Dormouse  was 
the  best  of  good  fellows  though  dull.  A  Civil 
Surgeon  who  never  quarrels  is  a  rarity,  ap- 
preciated as  such. 

Few  people  can  afford  to  play  Robinson  Cru- 
soe anywhere — least  of  all  in  India,  where  we 
are  few  in  the  land  and  very  much  dependent 
on  each  other's  kind  offices.  Dumoise  was 
wrong  in  shutting  himself  from  the  world  for 
a  year,  and  he  discovered  his  mistake  when  an 
epidemic  of  typhoid  broke  out  in  the  Station 
in  the  heart  of  the  cold  weather,  and  his  wife 
went  down.    He  was  a  shy  little  man,  and  five 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  431 

days  were  wasted  before  he  realized  that  Mrs. 
Dumoise  was  burning  with  something  worse 
than  simple  fever,  and  three  days  more  passed 
before  he  ventured  to  call  on  Mrs.  Shute,  the 
Engineer's  wife,  and  timidly  speak  about  his 
trouble.  Nearly  every  household  in  India 
knows  that  Doctors  are  very  helpless  in 
typhoid.  The  battle  must  be  fought  out  be- 
tween Death  and  the  Nurses  minute  by  minute 
and  degree  by  degree.  Mrs.  Shute  almost 
boxd  Dumoise's  ears  for  what  she  called  his 
"criminal  delay,"  and  went  off  at  once  to  look 
after  the  poor  girl.  We  had  seven  cases  of 
typhoid  in  the  Station  that  Winter  and,  as  the 
average  of  death  is  about  one  in  every  five 
cases,  we  felt  certain  that  we  should  have  to 
lose  somebody.  But  all  did  their  best.  The 
women  sat  up  nursing  the  women,  and  the  men 
turned  to  and  tended  the  bachelors  who  were 
down,  and  we  wrestled  with  those  typhoid 
cases  for  fifty-six  days,  and  brought  them 
through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  in  triumph. 
But,  just  when  we  thought  all  was  over,  and 
were  going  to  give  a  dance  to  celebrate  the 
victory,  little  Mrs.  Dumoise  got  a  relapse  and 
died  in  a  week  and  the  Station  went  to  the 
funeral.  Dumoise  broke  down  utterly  at  the 
brink  of  the  grave,  and  had  to  be  taken  away. 


432  BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

After  the  death,  Dumoise  crept  into  his  own 
house  and  refused  to  be  comforted.  He  did 
his  duties  perfectly,  but  we  all  felt  that  he 
should  go  on  leave,  and  the  other  men  of  his 
own  Service  told  him  so.  Dumoise  was  very- 
thankful  for  the  suggestion — he  was  thankful 
for  anything  in  those  days — and  went  to  Chini 
on  a  walking-tour.  Chini  is  some  twenty 
marches  from  Simla,  in  the  heart  of  the  Hills, 
and  the  scenery  is  good  if  you  are  in  trouble. 
You  pass  through  big,  still  deodar-forests,  and 
under  big,  still  cliffs,  and  over  big,  still  grass- 
downs  swelling  like  a  woman's  breasts;  and 
the  wind  across  the  grass,  and  the  rain  among 
the  deodars  says — "Hush — hush — hush."  So 
little  Dumoise  was  packed  off  to  Chini,  to  wear 
down  his  grief  with  a  full-plate  camera  and  a 
rifle.  He  took  also  a  useless  bearer,  because 
the  man  had  been  his  wife's  favorite  servant. 
He  was  idle  and  a  thief,  but  Dumoise  trusted 
everything  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Chini,  Dumoise 
turned  aside  to  Bagi,  through  the  Forest  Re- 
serve which  is  on  the  spur  of  Mount  Huttoo. 
Some  men  who  have  traveled  more  than  a  little 
say  that  the  march  from  Kotegarh  to  Bagi  is 
one  of  the  finest  in  creation.  It  runs  through 
dark  wet  forest,  and  ends  suddenly  in  bleak, 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  433 

nipped  hillside  and  black  rocks.  Bagi  dak- 
bungalow  is  open  to  all  the  winds  and  is  bitterly 
cold.  Few  people  go  to  Bagi.  Perhaps  that 
was  the  reason  why  Dumoise  went  there.  He 
halted  at  seven  in  the  evening,  and  his  bearer 
went  down  the  hillside  to  the  village  to  engage 
coolies  for  the  next  day's  march.  The  sun 
had  set,  and  the  night-winds  were  beginning  to 
croon  among  the  rocks.  Dumoise  leaned  on 
the  railing  of  the  veranda,  waiting  for  his 
bearer  to  return.  The  man  came  back  almost 
immediately  after  he  had  disappeared,  and  at 
such  a  rate  that  Dumoise  fancied  he  must  have 
crossed  a  bear.  He  was  running  as  hard  as 
he  could  up  the  face  of  the  hill. 

But  there  was  no  bear  to  account  for  his 
terror.  He  raced  to  the  veranda  and  fell  down, 
the  blood  spurting  from  his  nose  and  his  face 
iron-grey.  Then  he  gurgled — "I  have  seen  the 
Memsahib!    I  have  seen  the  Memsahibl" 

"Where?"  said  Dumoise. 

"Down  there,  walking  on  the  road  to  the  vil- 
lage. She  was  in  a  blue  dress,  and  she  lifted 
the  veil  of  her  bonnet  and  said — 'Ram  Dass, 
give  my  salaams  to  the  Sahib,  and  tell  him  that 
I  shall  meet  him  next  month  at  Nuddea.'  Then 
I  ran  away,  because  I  was  afraid." 

What  Dumoise  said  or  did  I  do  not  know. 


434  BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

Ram  Dass  declares  that  he  said  nothing,  but 
walked  up  and  down  the  veranda  all  the  cold 
night,  waiting  for  the  Mcmsahib  to  come  up 
the  hill  and  stretching  out  his  arms  into  the 
dark  like  a  madman.  But  no  Memsahib  came, 
and,  next  day,  he  went  on  to  Simla  cross-ques- 
tioning the  bearer  every  hour. 

Ram  Dass  could  only  say  that  he  had  met 
Mrs.  Dumoise  and  that  she  had  lifted  up  her 
veil  and  given  him  the  message  which  he  had 
faithfully  repeated  to  Dumoise.  To  this  state- 
ment Ram  Dass  adhered.  He  did  not  know 
where  Nuddea  was,  had  no  friends  at  Nuddea, 
and  would  most  certainly  never  go  to  Nuddea ; 
even  though  his  pay  were  doubled. 

Nuddea  is  in  Bengal  and  has  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  a  Doctor  serving  in  the  Punjab. 
It  must  be  more  than  twelve  hundred  miles 
south  of  Meridki. 

Dumoise  went  through  Simla  without  halt- 
ing, and  returned  to  Meridki,  there  to  take  over 
charge  from  the  man  who  had  been  officiating 
for  him  during  his  tour.  There  were  some 
Dispensary  accounts  to  be  explained,  and  some 
recent  orders  of  the  Surgeon-General  to  be 
noted,  and,  altogether,  the  taking-over  was  a 
full  day's  work.  In  the  evening,  Dumoise  told 
his  locum  tenens,  who  was  an  old  friend  of 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  435 

his  bachelor  days,  what  had  happened  at  Bagi ; 
and  the  man  said  that  Ram  Dass  might  as  well 
have  chosen  Tuticorin  while  he  was  about  it. 

At  that  moment,  a  telegraph-peon  came  in 
with  a  telegram  from  Simla,  ordering  Dumoise 
not  to  take  over  charge  at  Meridki,  but  to  go 
at  once  to  Nuddea  on  special  duty.  There  was 
a  nasty  outbreak  of  cholera  at  Nuddea,  and 
the  Bengal  Government,  being  short-handed, 
as  usual,  had  borrowed  a  Surgeon  from  the 
Punjab. 

Dumoise  threw  the  telegram  across  the  table 
and  said— "Well?" 

The  other  Doctor  said  nothing.  It  was  all 
that  he  could  say. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Dumoise  had 
passed  through  Simla  on  his  way  from  Bagi ; 
and  thus  might,  possibly,  have  heard  first  news 
of  the  impending  transfer. 

He  tried  to  put  the  question,  and  the  implied 
suspicion  into  words,  but  Dumoise  stopped  him 
with — "If  I  had  desired  that,  I  should  never 
have  come  back  from  Chini.  I  was  shooting 
there.  I  wish  to  live,  for  I  have  things  to 
do     .     .     .     but  I  shall  not  be  sorry." 

The  other  man  bowed  his  head,  and  helped, 
in  the  twilight,  to  pack  up  Dumoise's  just 
opened  trunks.  Ram  Dass  entered  with  the 
lamps. 


436  BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

"Where  is  the  Sahib  going?"  he  asked. 

"To  Nuddea,"  said  Dumoise,  softly. 

Ram  Dass  clawed  Dumoise's  knees  and  boots 
and  begged  him  not  to  go.  Ram  Dass  wept 
and  howled  till  he  was  turned  out  of  the  room. 
Then  he  wrapped  up  all  his  belongings  and 
came  back  to  ask  for  a  character.  He  was  not 
going  to  Nuddea  to  see  his  Sahib  die  and,  per- 
haps, to  die  himself. 

So  Dumoise  gave  the  man  his  wages  and 
went  down  to  Nuddea  alone;  the  other  Doctor 
bidding  him  good-bye  as  one  under  sentence  of 
death. 

Eleven  days  later  he  had  joined  his  Mem- 
sahib;  and  the  Bengal  Government  had  to  bor- 
row a  fresh  Doctor  to  cope  with  that  epidemic 
at  Nuddea.  The  first  importation  lay  dead  in 
Chooadanga  Dak-Bungalow. 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE 


By  the  hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  up-tossed 
From  the  Cliff  where  She  lay  in  the  Sun, 

Fell  the  Stone 
To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost ; 
So  She  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

And  alone. 

Now  the  fall  was  ordained  from  the  first, 
With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 
Knows  only  Her  life  is  accursed, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  depths  of  the  Tarn, 
And  alone. 

Oh,  Thou  who  has  builded  the  world ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  lighted  the  Sun ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  darkened  the  Tarn ! 

Judge  Thou 
The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  Goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn, 

Even  now — even  now — even  now  ! 
-From  the  Unpublished  Papers  of  Mcintosh  J ellaludin. 


a 


O  AY  is  it  dawn,  is  it  dusk  in  thy  Bower, 
***    Thou  whom  I  long  for,  who  longest  for 


me? 
Oh,  be  it  night — be  it" — 
439 


44o  TO  BE  FILED 

Here  he  fell  over  a  little  camel-colt  that  was 
sleeping  in  the  Serai  where  the  horse-traders 
and  the  best  of  the  blackguards  from  Central 
Asia  live;  and,  because  he  was  very  drunk  in- 
deed and  the  night  was  dark,  he  could  not  rise 
again  till  I  helped  him.  That  was  the  begin- 
ning of  my  acquaintance  with  Mcintosh  Jel- 
laludin.  When  a  loafer,  and  drunk,  sings 
"The  Song  of  the  Bower,"  he  must  be  worth 
cultivating.  He  got  off  the  camel's  back  and 
said,  rather  thickly,  "I — I — I'm  a  bit  screwed, 
but  a  dip  in  Loggerhead  will  put  me  right 
again ;  and,  I  say,  have  you  spoken  to  Symonds 
about  the  mare's  knees  ?" 

Now  Loggerhead  was  six  thousand  weary 
miles  away  from  us,  close  to  Mesopotamia, 
where  you  musn't  fish  and  poaching  is  impos- 
sible, and  Charley  Symonds'  stable  a  half  mile 
farther  across  the  paddocks.  It  was  strange  to 
hear  all  the  old  names,  on  a  May  night,  among 
the  horses  and  camels  of  the  Sultan  Caravan- 
serai. Then  the  man  seemed  to  remember  him- 
self and  sober  down  at  the  same  time.  He 
leaned  against  the  camel  and  pointed  to  a  cor- 
ner of  the  Serai  where  a  lamp  was  burning. 

"I  live  there,"  said  he,  "and  I  should  be  ex- 
tremely obliged  if  you  would  be  good  enough 
to  help  my  mutinous  feet  thither;  for  I  am 


FOR  REFERENCE  441 

more  than  usually  drunk — most — most  phe- 
nomenally tight.  But  not  in  respect  to  my 
head.  'My  brain  cries  out  against' — how  does 
it  go?  But  my  head  rides  on  the — rolls  on 
the  dunghill  I  should  have  said,  and  controls 
the  qualm." 

I  helped  him  through  the  gangs  of  tethered 
horses  and  he  collapsed  on  the  edge  of  the 
veranda  in  front  of  the  line  of  native  quarters. 

"Thanks — a  thousand  thanks !  O  Moon  and 
little,  little  Stars !  To  think  that  a  man  should 
so  shamelessly  .  .  .  Infamous  liquor  too. 
Ovid  in  exile  drank  no  worse.  Better.  It  was 
frozen.  Alas!  I  had  no  ice.  Good-night.  I 
would  introduce  you  to  my  wife  were  I  sober 
— or  she  civilized." 

A  native  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness 
of  the  room,  and  began  calling  the  man  names ; 
so  I  went  away.  He  was  the  most  interesting 
loafer  that  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
for  a  long  time;  and  later  on,  he  became  a 
friend  of  mine.  He  was  a  tall,  well-built,  fair 
man,  fearfully  shaken  with  drink,  and  he 
looked  nearer  fifty  than  the  thirty-five  which, 
he  said,  was  his  real  age.  When  a  man  begins 
to  sink  in  India,  and  is  not  sent  Home  by  his 
friends  as  soon  as  may  be,  he  falls  very  low 
from  a  respectable  point  of  view.    By  the  time 


442  TO  BE  FILED 

that  he  changes  his  creed,  as  did  Mcintosh, 
he  is  past  redemption. 

In  most  big  cities,  natives  will  tell  you  of 
two  or  three  Sahibs,  generally  low-caste,  who 
have  turned  Hindu  or  Mussulman,  and  who 
live  more  or  less  as  such.  But  it  is  not  often 
that  you  can  get  to  know  them.  As  Mcintosh 
himself  used  to  say,  "If  I  change  my  religion 
for  my  stomach's  sake,  I  do  not  seek  to  become 
a  martyr  to  missionaries,  nor  am  I  anxious  for 
notoriety." 

At  the  outset  of  acquaintance  Mcintosh 
warned  me.  "Remember  this.  I  am  not  an 
object  for  charity.  I  require  neither  your 
money,  your  food,  nor  your  cast-off  raiment. 
I  am  that  rare  animal,  a  self-supporting  drunk- 
ard. If  you  choose,  I  will  smoke  with  you,  for 
the  tobacco  of  the  bazars  does  not,  I  admit, 
suit  my  palate;  and  I  will  borrow  any  books 
which  you  may  not  specially  value.  It  is  more 
than  likely  that  I  shall  sell  them  for  bottles  of 
excessively  filthy  country  liquors.  In  return, 
you  shall  share  such  hospitality  as  my  house 
affords.  Here  is  a  charpoy  on  which  two  can 
sit,  and  it  is  possible  that  there  may,  from 
time  to  time,  be  food  in  that  platter.  Drink, 
unfortunately,  you  will  find  on  the  premises  at 
any  hour:  and  thus  I  make  you  welcome  to 
all  my  poor  establishment." 


FOR  REFERENCE  443 

I  was  admitted  to  the  Mcintosh  household — 
I  and  my  good  tobacco.  But  nothing  else. 
Unluckily,  one  cannot  visit  a  loafer  in  the  Serai 
by  day.  Friends  buying  horses  would  not  un- 
derstand it.  Consequently,  I  was  obliged  to 
see  Mcintosh  after  dark.  He  laughed  at  this, 
and  said  simply,  "You  are  perfectly  right. 
When  I  enjoyed  a  position  in  society,  rather 
higher  than  yours,  I  should  have  done  exactly 
the  same  thing.  Good  heavens !  I  was  once" 
— he  spoke  as  though  he  had  fallen  from  the 
Command  of  a  Regiment — "an  Oxford  Man!" 
This  accounted  for  the  reference  to  Charley 
Symonds'  stable. 

"You,"  said  Mcintosh  slowly,  "have  not  had 
that  advantage;  but,  to  outward  appearance, 
you  do  not  seem  possessed  of  a  craving  for 
strong  drinks.  On  the  whole,  I  fancy  that 
you  are  the  luckier  of  the  two.  Yet  I  am  not 
certain.  You  are — forgive  my  saying  so  even 
while  I  am  smoking  your  excellent  tobacco — 
painfully  ignorant  of  many  things." 

We  were  sitting  together  on  the  edge  of  his 
bedstead,  for  he  owned  no  chairs,  watching 
the  horses  being  watered  for  the  night,  while 
the  native  woman  was  preparing  dinner.  I  did 
not  like  being  patronized  by  a  loafer,  but  I  was 
his  guest  for  the  time  being,  though  he  owned 


444  T0  BE  FILED 

only  one  very  torn  alpaca-coat  and  a  pair  of 
trousers  made  out  of  gunny-bags.  He  took 
the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  went  on  judi- 
cially, "All  things  considered,  I  doubt  whether 
you  are  the  luckier.  I  do  not  refer  to  your 
extremely  limited  classical  attainments,  or  your 
excruciating  quantities,  but  to  your  gross  ig- 
norance of  matters  more  immediately  under 
your  notice.  That,  for  instance,"  he  pointed 
to  a  woman  cleaning  a  samovar  near  the  well 
in  the  centre  of  the  Serai.  She  was  flicking 
the  water  out  of  the  spout  in  regular  cadenced 
jerks. 

"There  are  ways  and  ways  of  cleaning  sam- 
ovars. If  you  knew  why  she  was  doing  her 
work  in  that  particular  fashion,  you  would 
know  what  the  Spanish  Monk  meant  when  he 
said — 

I  the  Trinity  illustrate, 
Drinking  watered  orange-pulp — 

In  three  sips  the  Arian  frustrate, 
While  he  drains  his  at  one  gulp — 

and  many  other  things  which  now  are  hidden 
from  your  eyes.  However,  Mrs.  Mcintosh  has 
prepared  dinner.  Let  us  come  and  eat  after 
the  fashion  of  the  people  of  the  country — of 
whom,  by  the  way,  you  know  nothing." 


FOR  REFERENCE  445 

The  native  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the 
dish  with  us.  This  was  wrong.  The  wife 
should  always  wait  until  the  husband  has 
eaten.  Mcintosh  Jellaludin  apologized,  say- 
ing—^ 

"It  is  an  English  prejudice  which  I  have  not 
been  able  to  overcome ;  and  she  loves  me. 
Why,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand.  I 
foregathered  with  her  at  Jullundur,  three  years 
ago,  and  she  has  remained  with  me  ever  since. 
I  believe  her  to  be  moral,  and  know  her  to  be 
skilled  in  cookery." 

He  patted  the  woman's  head  as  he  spoke, 
and  she  cooed  softly.  She  was  not  pretty  to 
look  at. 

Mcintosh  never  told  me  what  position  he 
had  held  before  his  fall.  He  was,  when  sober,  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman.  When  drunk,  he  was 
rather  more  of  the  first  than  the  second.  He 
used  to  get  drunk  about  once  a  week  for  two 
days.  On  those  occasions  the  native  woman 
tended  him  while  he  raved  in  all  tongues  except 
his  own.  One  day,  indeed,  he  began  reciting 
Atalanta  in  Calydon,  and  went  through  it  to 
the  end,  beating  time  to  the  swing  of  the  verse 
with  a  bedstead-leg.  But  he  did  most  of  his 
ravings  in  Greek  or  German.  The  man's  mind 
was  a  perfect  rag-bag  of  useless  things.   Once, 


446  TO  BE  FILED 

when  he  was  beginning  to  get  sober,  he  told 
me  that  I  was  the  only  rational  being  in  the 
Inferno  into  which  he  had  descended — a  Virgil 
in  the  Shades,  he  said — and  that,  in  return  for 
my  tobacco,  he  would,  before  he  died,  give  me 
the  materials  of  a  new  Inferno  that  should 
make  me  greater  than  Dante.  Then  he  fell 
asleep  on  a  horse-blanket  and  woke  up  quite 
calm. 

"Man,"  said  he,  "when  you  have  reached 
the  uttermost  depths  of  degradation,  little  in- 
cidents which  would  vex  a  higher  life,  are  to 
you  of  no  consequence.  Last  night,  my  soul 
was  among  the  Gods ;  but  I  make  no  doubt  that 
my  bestial  body  was  writhing  down  here  in 
the  garbage." 

"You  were  abominably  drunk  if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  I  said. 

"I  was  drunk — filthily  drunk.  I  who  am  the 
son  of  a  man  with  whom  you  have  no  concern 
— I  who  was  once  Fellow  of  a  College  whose 
buttery-hatch  you  have  not  seen.  I  was  loath- 
somely drunk.  But  consider  how  lightly  I 
am  touched.  It  is  nothing  to  me.  Less  than 
nothing;  for  I  do  not  even  feel  the  headache 
which  should  be  my  portion.  Now,  in  a  higher 
life,  how  ghastly  would  have  been  my  punish- 
ment, how  bitter  my  repentance!     Believe  me 


FOR  REFERENCE  447 

my  friend  with  the  neglected  education,  the 
highest  is  as  the  lowest — always  supposing 
each  degree  extreme." 

He  turned  around  on  the  blanket,  put  his 
head  betwen  his  fists  and  continued — 

"On  the  Soul  which  I  have  lost  and  on  the 
Conscience  which  I  have  killed,  I  tell  you  that 
I  cannot  feel!  I  am  as  the  Gods,  knowing 
good  and  evil,  but  untouched  by  either.  Is 
this  enviable  or  is  it  not?" 

When  a  man  has  lost  the  warning  of  "next 
morning's  head,"  he  must  be  in  bad  state.  I 
answered,  looking  at  Mcintosh  on  the  blanket, 
with  his  hair  over  his  eyes  and  his  lips  blue- 
white,  that  I  did  not  think  the  insensibility 
good  enough. 

"For  pity's  sake,  don't  say  that !  I  tell  you, 
it  is  good  and  most  enviable.  Think  of  my 
consolations !" 

"Have  you  so  many,  then,  Mcintosh?" 

"Certainly ;  your  attempts  at  sarcasm,  which 
is  essentially  the  weapon  of  a  cultured  man, 
are  crude.  First,  my  attainments,  my  classical 
and  literary  knowledge,  blurred,  perhaps,  by 
immoderate  drinking — which  reminds  me  that 
before  my  soul  went  to  the  Gods  last  night.  I 
sold  the  Pickering  Horace  you  so  kindly  loaned 
me.      Ditta   Mull  the   clothesman  has   it.      It 


448  TO  BE  FILED 

fetched  ten  annas,  and  may  be  redeemed  for  a 
rupee — but  still  infinitely  superior  to  yours. 
Secondly,  the  abiding  affection  of  Mrs.  Mcin- 
tosh, best  of  wives.  Thirdly,  a  monument, 
more  enduring  than  brass,  which  I  have  built 
up  in  the  seven  years  of  my  degradation." 

He  stopped  here,   and   crawled   across  the 
room  for  a  drink  of  water.     He  was  very 
shaky  and  sick. 

He  referred  several  times  to  his  "treasure" 
— some  great  possession  that  he  owned — but  I 
held  this  to  be  the  raving  of  drink.  He  was  as 
poor  and  as  proud  as  he  could  be.  His  man- 
ner was  not  pleasant,  but  he  knew  enough 
about  the  natives,  among  whom  seven  years 
of  his  life  had  been  spent,  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance worth  having.  He  used  actually 
to  laugh  at  Strickland  as  an  ignorant  man — 
"ignorant  West  and  East" — he  said.  His 
boast  was,  first,  that  he  was  an  Oxford  Man 
of  rare  and  shining  parts,  which  may  or  may 
not  have  been  true — I  did  not  know  enough  to 
check  his  statements — and,  secondly,  that  he 
"had  his  hand  on  the  pulse  of  native  life" — 
which  was  a  fact.  As  an  Oxford  Man,  he 
struck  me  as  a  prig;  he  was  always  throwing 
his  education  about.  As  a  Mohammedan 
faquir — as    Mcintosh   Jellaludin — he   was   all 


FOR  REFERENCE  449 

that  I  wanted  for  my  own  ends.  He  smoked 
several  pounds  of  my  tobacco,  and  taught  me 
several  ounces  of  things  worth  knowing;  but 
he  would  never  accept  any  gifts,  not  even  when 
the  cold  weather  came,  and  gripped  the  poor 
thin  chest  under  the  poor  thin  alpaca-coat.  He 
grew  very  angry,  and  said  that  I  had  insulted 
him,  and  that  he  was  not  going  into  hospital. 
He  had  lived  like  a  beast  and  he  would  die 
rationally,  like  a  man. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  died  of  pneumonia; 
and  on  the  night  of  his  death  sent  over  a 
grubby  note  asking  me  to  come  and  help  him 
to  die. 

The  native  woman  was  weeping  by  the  side 
of  the  bed.  Mcintosh,  wrapped  in  a  cotton 
cloth,  was  too  weak  to  resent  a  fur  coat  being 
thrown  over  him.  He  was  very  active  as  far 
as  his  mind  was  concerned,  and  his  eyes  were 
blazing.  When  he  had  abused  the  Doctor  who 
came  with  me,  so  foully  that  the  indignant  old 
fellow  left,  he  cursed  me  for  a  few  minutes  and 
calmed  down. 

Then  he  told  his  wife  to  fetch  out  "The 
Book"  from  a  hole  in  the  wall.  She  brought 
out  a  big  bundle,  wrapped  in  the  tail  of  a  petti- 
coat, of  old  sheets  of  miscellaneous  note-paper, 
all  numbered  and  covered  with  fine  cramped 


450  TO  BE  FILED 

writing.    Mcintosh  ploughed  his  hand  through 
the  rubbish  and  stirred  it  up  lovingly. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  my  work — the  Book  of 
Mcintosh  Jellaludin,  showing  what  he  saw  and 
how  he  lived,  and  what  befell  him  and  others ; 
being  also  an  account  of  the  life  and  sins  and 
death  of  Mother  Maturin.  What  Mirza 
Murad  Ali  Beg's  book  is  to  all  other  books  on 
native  life,  will  my  work  be  to  Mirza  Murad 
Ali  Beg's!" 

This,  as  will  be  conceded  by  any  one  who 
knows  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  book,  was  a 
sweeping  statement.  The  papers  did  not  look 
specially  valuable;  but  Mcintosh  handled  them 
as  if  they  were  currency-notes.  Then  said  he 
slowly — 

"In  despite  the  many  weaknesses  of  your 
education,  you  have  been  good  to  me.  I  will 
speak  of  your  tobacco  when  I  reach  the  Gods. 
I  owe  you  much  thanks  for  many  kindnesses. 
But  I  abominate  indebtedness.  For  this  rea- 
son, I  bequeath  to  you  now  the  monument  more 
enduring  than  brass — my  one  book — rude  and 
imperfect  in  parts,  but  oh  how  rare  in  others! 
I  wonder  if  you  will  understand  it.  It  is  a 
gift  more  honorable  than  .  .  .  Bah! 
where  is  my  brain  rambling  to?  You  will 
mutilate  it  horrihlv.     You  will  knock  out  the 


FOR  REFERENCE  451 

gems  you  call  Latin  quotations,  you  Philistine, 
and  you  will  butcher  the  style  to  carve  into 
your  own  jerky  jargon;  but  you  cannot  de- 
stroy the  whole  of  it.  I  bequeath  it  to  you. 
Ethel  .  .  .  My  brain  again!  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Mcintosh,  bear  witness  that  I  give  the 
Sahib  all  these  papers.  They  would  be  of  no 
use  to  you,  Heart  of  my  Heart ;  and  I  lay  it 
upon  you,"  he  turned  to  me  here,  "that  you  do 
not  let  my  book  die  in  its  present  form.  It  is 
yours  unconditionally — the  story  of  Mcintosh 
Jellaludin,  which  is  not  the  story  of  Mcintosh 
Jellaludin,  but  of  a  greater  man  than  he,  and 
of  a  far  greater  woman.  Listen  now!  I  am 
neither  mad  nor  drunk !  That  book  will  make 
you  famous." 

I  said,  "Thank  you,"  as  the  native  woman 
put  the  bundle  into  my  arms. 

"My  only  baby!"  said  Mcintosh,  with  a 
smile.  He  was  sinking  fast,  but  he  continued 
to  talk  as  long  as  breath  remained.  I  waited 
for  the  end ;  knowing  that,  in  six  cases  out  of 
ten  a  dying  man  calls  for  his  mother.  He 
turned  on  his  side  and  said — 

"Say  how  it  came  into  your  possession.  No 
one  will  believe  you,  but  my  name,  at  least, 
will  live.  You  will  treat  it  brutally,  I  know 
you  will.     Some  of  it  must  go;  the  public  are 


452  TO  BE  FILED 

fools  and  prudish  fools.  I  was  their  servant 
once.  But  do  your  mangling  gently — very 
gently.  It  is  a  great  work,  and  I  have  paid  for 
it  in  seven  years'  damnation." 

His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or  twelve  breaths, 
and  then  he  began  mumbling  a  prayer  of  some 
kind  in  Greek.  The  native  woman  cried  very 
bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose  in  bed  and  said,  as 
loudly  as  slowly — "Not  guilty,  my  lord!" 

Then  he  fell  back,  and  the  stupor  held  him 
till  he  died.  The  native  woman  ran  into  the 
Serai  among  the  horses,  and  screamed  and  beat 
her  breasts;  for  she  had  loved  him. 

Perhaps  his  last  sentence  in  life  told  what 
Mcintosh  had  once  gone  through;  but,  saving 
the  big  bundle  of  old  sheets  in  the  cloth,  there 
was  nothing  in  his  room  to  say  who  or  what 
he  had  been. 

The  papers  were  in  a  hopeless  muddle. 

Strickland  helped  me  to  sort  them,  and  he 
said  that  the  writer  was  either  an  extreme  liar 
or  a  most  wonderful  person.  He  thought  the 
former.  One  of  these  days,  you  may  be  able  to 
judge  for  yourselves.  The  bundle  needed 
much  expurgation  and  was  full  of  Greek  non- 
sense, at  the  head  of  the  chapters,  which  has 
all  been  cut  out. 

If  the  thing  is   ever   published,   some   one 


FOR  REFERENCE  453 

may  perhaps  remember  this  story,  now  printed 
as  a  safeguard  to  prove  that  Mcintosh  Jel- 
laludin  and  not  myself  wrote  the  Book  of 
Mother  Maturin. 

I  don't  want  the  Giant's  Robe  to  come  true  in 
my  case. 


THE  LAST  RELIEF 


THE  LAST  RELIEF 


"He  rode  to  death  across  the  moor — 

Oh,  false  to  me  and  mine ! 
But  the  naked  ghost  came  to  my  door 
And  bade  me  tend  the  kine. 

"The  naked  ghost  came  to  my  door, 

And  flickered  to  and  fro, 
And  syne  it  whimpered  through  the  crack 
Wi'  'Jeanie,  let  me  go.' " 

—Old  Ballad. 


NOTHING  is  easier  than  the  administration 
of  an  empire  so  long  as  there  is  a  supply 
of  administrators.  Nothing,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  more  difficult  than  short-handed  ad- 
ministration. In  India,  where  every  man  hold- 
ing authority  above  a  certain  grade  must  be 
specially  imported  from  England,  this  diffi- 
culty crops  up  at  unexpected  seasons.  Then  the 
great  empire  staggers  along,  like  a  North  Sea 
fishing-smack,  with  a  crew  of  two  men  and  a 
boy,  until  a  fresh  supply  of  food  for  fever 
arrives  from  England,  and  the  gaps  are  filled 
up.     Some  of  the  provinces  are  permanently 

457 


458  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

short-handed,  because  their  rulers  know  that 
if  they  give  a  man  just  a  little  more  work  than 
he  can  do,  he  contrives  to  do  it.  From  the 
man's  point  of  view  this  is  wasteful,  but  it 
helps  the  empire  forward,  and  flesh  and  blood 
are  very  cheap.  The  young  men — and  young 
men  are  always  exacting — expect  too  much  at 
the  outset.  They  come  to  India  desiring 
careers  and  money  and  a  little  success,  and 
sometimes  a  wife.  There  is  no  limit  to  their 
desires,  but  in  a  few  years  it  is  explained  to 
them  by  the  sky  above,  the  earth  beneath,  and 
the  men  around,  that  they  are  of  far  less  im- 
portance than  their  work,  and  that  it  really  does 
not  concern  themselves  whether  they  live  or 
die  so  long  as  that  work  continues.  After  they 
have  learned  this  lesson,  they  become  men 
worth  consideration. 

Many  seasons  ago  the  gods  attacked  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  government  of  India  in  the 
heart  of  the  hot  season.  They  caused  pesti- 
lences and  famines,  and  killed  the  men  who 
were  deputed  to  deal  with  each  pestilence  and 
every  famine.  They  rolled  the  smallpox  across 
a  desert,  and  it  killed  four  Englishmen,  one 
after  the  other,  leaving  thirty  thousand  square 
miles  masterless  for  many  days.  They  even 
caused  the  cholera  to  attack  the  reserve  depots 


THE  LAST  RELIEF  459 

— the  sanitaria  in  the  Himalayas — where  men 
were  waiting  on  leave  till  their  turn  should 
come  to  go  down  into  the  heat.  They  killed 
men  with  sunstroke  who  otherwise  might  have 
lived  for  three  months  longer,  and — this  was 
mean — they  caused  a  strong  man  to  tumble 
from  his  horse  and  break  his  neck  just  when 
he  was  most  needed.  It  will  not  be  long,  that 
is  to  say,  five  or  six  years  will  pass,  before 
those  who  survived  forget  that  season  of  trib- 
ulation, when  they  danced  at  Simla  with  wives 
who  feared  that  they  might  be  widows  before 
the  morning,  and  when  the  daily  papers  from 
the  plains  confined  themselves  entirely  to  one 
kind  of  domestic  occurrence. 

Only  the  Supreme  government  never 
blanched.  It  sat  upon  the  hilltops  of  Simla 
among  the  pines,  and  called  for  returns  and 
statements  as  usual.  Sometimes  it  called  to  a 
dead  man,  but  it  always  received  the  returns  as 
soon  as  his  successor  could  take  his  place. 

Ricketts  of  Myndonie  died,  and  was  relieved 
by  Carter.  Carter  was  invalided  home,  but  he 
worked  to  the  last  minute,  and  left  no  arrears. 
He  was  relieved  by  Morten-Holt,  who  was  too 
young  for  the  work.  Holt  died  of  sunstroke 
when  the  famine  was  in  Myndonie.  He  was 
relieved  by  Darner,  a  man  borrowed  from  an- 


460  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

other  province,  who  did  all  he  could,  but  broke 
down  from  overwork.  Cromer,  in  London  on 
a  year's  leave,  was  dragged  out  by  telegram 
from  the  cool  darkness  of  a  Brompton  flat  to 
the  white  heat  of  Myndonie,  and  he  held  fast. 
That  is  the  record  of  Myndonie  alone. 

On  the  Moonee  Canal  three  men  went  down ; 
in  the  Kahan  district,  when  cholera  was  at  its 
worst,  three  more.  In  the  Divisional  Court  of 
Halimpur  two  good  men  were  accounted  for; 
and  so  the  record  ran,  exclusive  of  the  wives 
and  little  children.  It  was  a  great  game  of 
general  post,  with  death  in  all  the  corners,  and 
it  drove  the  Government  to  their  wits'  end  to 
tide  over  the  trouble  till  autumn  should  bring 
the  new  drafts. 

The  gods  had  no  mercy,  but  the  Government 
and  the  men  it  employed  had  no  fear.  This 
annoyed  the  gods,  who  are  immortal,  for  they 
perceived,  that  the  men  whose  portion  was 
death  were  greater  than  they.  The  gods  are 
always  troubled,  even  in  their  paradises,  by 
this  sense  of  inferiority.  They  know  that  it  is 
so  easy  for  themselves  to  be  strong  and  cruel, 
and  they  are  afraid  of  being  laughed  at.  So 
they  smote  more  furiously  than  ever,  just  as  a 
swordsman  slashes  at  a  chain  to  prove  the  tem- 
per of  his  blade.     The  chain  of  men  parted 


THE  LAST  RELIEF  461 

for  an  instant  at  the  stroke,  but  it  closed  up 
again,  and  continued  to  drag  the  empire  for- 
ward, and  not  one  living  link  of  it  rang  false 
or  was  weak.  All  desired  life,  and  love,  and  the 
light,  and  liquor,  and  larks,  but  none  the  less 
they  died  without  whimpering.  Therefore  the 
gods  would  have  continued  to  slay  them  till 
this  very  day  had  not  one  man  failed. 

His  name  was  Haydon,  and  being  young,  he 
looked  for  all  that  young  men  desire;  most  of 
all,  he  looked  for  love.  He  had  been  at  work 
in  the  Girdhauri  district  for  eleven  months,  till 
fever  and  pressure  had  shaken  his  nerve  more 
than  he  knew.  •  At  last  he  had  taken  the  holiday 
that  was  his  right — the  holiday  for  which  he 
had  saved  up  one  month  a  year  for  three  years 
past.  Keyte,  a  junior,  relieved  him  one  hot 
afternoon.  Haydon  shut  his  ink-stained  box, 
packed  himself  some  thick  clothes — he  had  been 
living  in  cotton  ducks  for  four  months — gave 
his  files  of  sweat-dotted  papers,  saw  Keyte 
slide  a  piece  of  blotting-paper  between  the 
naked  arm  and  the  desk,  and  left  that  parched 
station  of  roaring  dust  storms  for  Simla  and 
the  cool  of  the  snows.  There  he  found  rest, 
and  the  pink  blotches  of  prickly  heat  faded 
from  his  body,  and  being  idle,  he  went  a-court- 
ing  without  knowing  it.     After  a  decent  in- 


462  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

terval  he  found  himself  drifting  very  gently 
along  the  road  that  leads  to  the  church,  and 
a  pretty  girl  helped  him.  He  enjoyed  his 
meals,  was  free  from  the  intolerable  strain  of 
bodily  discomfort,  and  as  he  looked  from  Simla 
upon  the  torment  of  the  silver-wrapped  plains 
below,  laughed  to  think  he  had  escaped  honor- 
ably, and  could  talk  prettily  to  a  pretty  girl, 
who  he  felt  sure,  would  in  a  little  time  answer 
an  important  question  as  it  should  be  answered. 

But  out  of  natural  perversity  and  an  inferior 
physique,  Keyte,  at  Girdhauri,  one  evening  laid 
his  head  upon  his  table  and  never  lifted  it  up 
again,  and  news  was  flashed  up  to  Simla  that 
the  district  of  Girdhauri  called  for  a  new  head. 
It  never  occurred  to  Haydon  that  he  would  be 
in  any  way  concerned  till  Hamerton,  a  secre- 
tary of  the  Government,  stopped  him  on  the 
Mall,  and  said : 

"I'm  afraid — I'm  very  much  afraid — that 
you  will  have  to  drop  your  leave  and  go  back 
to  Girdhauri.  You  see  Keyte's  dead,  and — and 
we  have  no  one  else  to  send  except  yourself. 
The  roster's  a  very  short  one  this  season,  and 
you  look  much  better  than  when  you  came  up. 
Of  course  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  spare  you,  but 
I'm  afraid — I'm  very  much  afraid — that  you 
will  have  to  go  down." 


THE  LAST  RELIEF  463 

The  Government,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not 
in  the  least  afraid.  It  was  quite  certain  that 
Haydon  must  go  down.  He  was  in  moderately 
good  health,  had  enjoyed  nearly  a  month's  holi- 
day, and  the  needs  of  the  state  were  urgent. 
Let  him,  they  said,  return  to  his  work  at  Gir- 
dhauri.  He  must  forego  his  leave,  but  some 
time,  in  the  years  to  come,  the  Government 
might  repay  him  the  lost  months,  if  it  were 
not  too  short-handed.  In  the  meantime  he 
would  return  to  duty. 

The  assistants  in  the  hara-kiri  of  Japan  are 
all  intimate  friends  of  the  man  who  must  die. 
They  like  him  immensely,  and  they  bring  him 
the  news  of  his  doom  with  polite  sorrow.  But 
he  must  die,  for  that  is  required  of  him. 

Hamerton  would  have  spared  Haydon  had  it 
been  possible,  but,  indeed,  he  was  the  healthiest 
man  in  the  ranks,  and  he  knew  the  district. 
"You  will  go  down  to-morrow,"  said  Hamer- 
ton. "The  regular  notification  will  appear  in 
the  Gazette  later  on.  We  can't  stand  on  forms 
this  year." 

Haydon  said  nothing,  because  those  who 
govern  India  obey  the  law.  He  looked — it  was 
evening — at  the  line  of  the  sun-flushed  snows 
forty  miles  to  the  east,  and  the  palpitating 
heat  haze  of  the  plains  fifty  miles  to  the  west, 


464  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

and  his  heart  sank.  He  wished  to  stay  in 
Simla  to  continue  his  wooing,  and  he  knew  too 
well  the  torments  that  were  in  store  for  him 
in  Girdhauri.  His  nerve  was  broken.  The 
coolness,  the  dances,  the  dinners  that  were  to 
come,  the  scent  of  the  Simla  pines  and  the  wood 
smoke,  the  canter  of  horses'  feet  on  the 
crowded  Mall,  turned  his  heart  to  water.  He 
could  have  wept  passionately,  like  a  little  child, 
for  his  lost  holiday  and  his  lost  love,  and,  like  a 
little  child  balked  of  its  play,  he  became  filled 
with  cheap  spite  that  can  only  hurt  the  owner. 
The  men  at  the  Club  were  sorry  for  him,  but 
he  did  not  want  to  be  condoled  with.  He  was 
angry  and  afraid.  Though  he  recognized  the 
necessity  of  the  injustice  that  had  been  done 
to  him,  he  conceived  that  it  could  all  be  put 
right  by  yet  another  injustice,  and  then — and 
then  somebody  else  would  have  to  do  his  work, 
for  he  would  be  out  of  it  forever. 

He  reflected  on  this  while  he  was  hurrying 
down  the  hillsides,  after  a  last  interview  with 
the  pretty  girl,  to  whom  he  had  said  nothing 
that  was  not  commonplace  and  inconclusive. 
This  last  failure  made  him  the  more  angry 
with  himself,  and  the  spite  and  the  rage  in- 
creased. The  air  grew  warmer  and  warmer  as 
the  cart  rattled  down  the  mountain  road,  till 


THE  LAST  RELIEF  465 

at  last  the  hot,  stale  stillness  of  the  plains 
closed  over  his  head  like  heated  oil,  and  he 
gasped  for  breath  among  the  dry  date-palms 
at  Kalka.  Then  came  the  long  level  ride  into 
Umballa;  the  stench  of  dust  which  breeds  de- 
spair; the  lime-washed  walls  of  Umballa  sta- 
tion, hot  to  the  hand  though  it  was  eleven  at 
night;  the  greasy,  rancid  meal  served  by  the 
sweating  servants ;  the  badly  trimmed  lamps 
in  the  oven-like  waiting-room;  and  the  whin- 
ing of  innumerable  mosquitoes.  That  night, 
he  remembered,  there  would  be  a  dance  at 
Simla.     He  was  a  very  weak  man. 

That  night  Hamerton  sat  at  work  till  late  in 
the  old  Simla  Foreign  Office,  which  was  a 
rambling  collection  of  match-boxes  packed 
away  in  a  dark  by-path  under  the  pines.  One 
of  the  wandering  storms  that  run  before  the 
regular  breaking  of  the  monsoon  had  wrapped 
Simla  in  white  mist.  The  rain  was  roaring 
on  the  shingled,  tin-patched  roof,  and  the  thun- 
der rolled  to  and  fro  among  the  hills  as  a  ship 
rolls  in  the  seaways.  Hamerton  called  for  a 
lamp  and  a  fire  to  drive  out  the  smell  of  mould 
and  forest  undergrowth  that  crept  in  from  the 
woods.  The  clerks  and  secretaries  had  left 
the  office  two  hours  ago,  and  there  remained 
only  one  native  orderly,  who  set  the  lamp  and 


466  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

went  away.  Hamerton  returned  to  his  papers, 
and  the  voice  of  the  rain  rose  and  fell.  In  the 
pauses  he  could  catch  the  crunching  of  'rick- 
shaw wheels  and  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet 
going  to  the  dance  at  the  Viceroy's.  These 
ceased  at  last,  and  the  rain  with  them.  The 
thunder  drew  off,  muttering,  toward  the  plains, 
and  all  the  dripping  pine-trees  sighed  with 
relief. 

"Orderly,"  said  Hamerton.  He  fancied  that 
he  heard  somebody  moving  about  the  rooms. 
There  was  no  answer,  except  a  deep-drawn 
breath  at  the  door.  It  might  come  from  a 
panther  prowling  about  the  verandas  in  search 
of  a  pet  dog,  but  panthers  generally  snuffed  in 
a  deeper  key.  This  was  a  thick,  gasping  breath, 
as  of  one  who  had  been  running  swiftly,  or  lay 
in  deadly  pain.  Hamerton  listened  again. 
There  certainly  was  somebody  moving  about 
the  Foreign  Office.  He  could  hear  boards 
creaking  in  far-off  rooms,  and  uncertain  steps 
on  the  rickety  staircase.  Since  the  clock 
marked  close  upon  midnight,  no  one  had  a 
right  to  be  in  the  office.  Hamerton  had  picked 
up  the  lamp,  and  was  going  to  make  a  search, 
when  the  steps  and  the  heavy  breathing  came 
to  the  door  again,  and  stayed. 

"Who's  there?"  said  Hamerton.  "Come 
in." 


THE  LAST  RELIEF  467 

Again  the  heavy  breathing,  and  a  thick,  short 
cough. 

"Who  relieves  Haydon?"  said  a  voice  out- 
side. "Haydon !  Haydon !  Dying  at  Um- 
balla.  He  can't  go  till  he  is  relieved.  Who 
relieves  Haydon?" 

Hamerton  dashed  to  the  door  and  opened  it, 
to  find  a  stolid  messenger  from  the  telegraph 
office,  breathing  through  his  nose,  after  the 
manner  of  natives.  The  man  held  out  a  tele- 
gram. "I  could  not  find  the  room  at  first," 
he  said.     "Is  there  an  answer?" 

The  telegram  was  from  the  Station-master 
at  Umballa,  and  said :  "Englishman  killed ;  up 
mail  42 ;  slipped  from  platform.  Dying.  Hay- 
don.   Civilian.    Inform  Government." 

"There  is  no  answer,"  said  Hamerton;  and 
the  man  went  away.  But  the  fluttering  whis- 
per at  the  door  continued : 

"Haydon!  Haydon!  Who  relieves  Hay- 
don? He  must  not  go  till  he  is  relieved. 
Haydon !  Haydon !  Dying  at  Umballa.  For 
pity's  sake,  be  quick!" 

Hamerton  thought  for  a  minute  of  the  piti- 
fully short  roster  of  men  available,  and  an- 
swered, quietly.  "Flint,  of  Degauri."  Then, 
and  not  till  then,  did  the  hair  begin  to  rise  on 
his  head;  and  Hamerton,  secretary  to  Govern- 


468  THE  LAST  RELIEF 

ment,  neglecting  the  lamp  and  the  papers,  went 
out  very  quickly  from  the  Foreign  Office  into 
the  cool  wet  night.  His  ears  were  tingling 
with  the  sound  of  a  dry  death-rattle,  and  he 
was  afraid  to  continue  his  work. 

Now  only  the  gods  know  by  whose  design 
and  intention  Haydon  had  slipped  from  the 
dimly  lighted  Umballa  platform  under  the 
wheels  of  the  mail  that  was  to  take  him  back  to 
his  district;  but  since  they  lifted  the  pestilence 
on  his  death,  we  may  assume  that  they  had 
proved  their  authority  over  the  minds  of  men, 
and  found  one  man  in  India  who  was  afraid 
of  present  pain. 


BITTERS  NEAT 


BITTERS  NEAT 

THE  oldest  trouble  in  the  world  comes  from 
want  of  understanding.  And  it  is  en- 
tirely the  fault  of  the  woman.  Somehow,  she 
is  built  incapable  of  speaking  the  truth,  even 
to  herself.  She  only  finds  it  out  about  four 
months  later,  when  the  man  is  dead,  or  has 
been  transferred.  Then  she  says  she  never 
was  so  happy  in  her  life,  and  marries  some  one 
else,  who  again  touches  some  woman's  heart 
elsewhere,  and  did  not  know  it,  but  was  mixed 
up  with  another  man's  wife,  who  only  used 
him  to  pique  a  third  man.  And  so  round  again 
— all  criss-cross. 

Out  here,  where  life  goes  quicker  than  at 
Home,  things  are  more  obviously  tangled,  and 
therefore  more  pitiful  to  look  at.  Men  speak 
the  truth  as  they  understand  it,  and  women  as 
they  think  men  would  like  to  understand  it; 
and  then  they  all  act  lies  which  would  deceive 
Solomon,  and  the  result  is  a  heart-rending 
muddle  that  half  a  dozen  open  words  would 
put  straight. 

471 


472  BITTERS  NEAT 

This  particular  muddle  did  not  differ  from 
any  other  muddle  you  may  see,  if  you  are  not 
busy  playing  cross-purposes  yourself,  going  on 
in  a  big  Station  any  cold  season.  It's  only 
merit  was  that  it  did  not  come  all  right  in  the 
end;  as  muddles  are  made  to  do  in  the  third 
volume. 

I've  forgotten  what  the  man  was — he  was 
an  ordinary  sort  of  man — 'man  you  meet  any 
day  at  the  A.-D.-C.'s  end  of  the  table,  and  go 
away  and  forget  about.  His  name  was  Surrey ; 
but  whether  he  was  in  the  Army  or  the  P. 
W.  D.,  or  the  Commissariat,  or  the  Police,  or 
a  factory,  I  don't  remember.  He  wasn't  a 
Civilian.  He  was  just  an  ordinary  man,  of 
the  light-colored  variety,  with  a  fair  moustache 
and  with  the  average  amount  of  pay  that  comes 
beween  twenty-seven  and  thirty-two — from 
six  to  nine  hundred  a  month. 

He  didn't  dance,  and  he  did  what  little  rid- 
ing he  wanted  to  do  by  himself,  and  was  busy 
in  office  all  day,  and  never  bothered  his  head 
about  women.  No  man  ever  dreamed  he 
would.  He  was  of  the  type  that  doesn't  marry, 
just  because  it  doesn't  think  about  marriage. 
He  was  one  of  the  plain  cards,  whose  only  use 
is  to  make  up  the  pack;  and  furnish  back- 
ground to  put  the  Court  cards  against. 


BITTERS  NEAT  473 

Then  there  was  a  girl — ordinary  girl — the 
dark-colored  variety — daughter  of  a  man  in 
the  Army,  who  played  a  little,  sang  a  little, 
talked  a  little,  and  furnished  the  background, 
exactly  as  Surrey  did.  She  had  been  sent  out 
here  to  get  married  if  she  could,  because  there 
were  many  sisters  at  Home,  and  Colonels'  al- 
lowances aren't  elastic.  She  lived  with  an 
Aunt.  She  was  a  Miss  Tallaght,  and  men 
spelled  her  name  "Tart"  in  the  programmes 
when  they  couldn't  catch  what  the  introducer 
said. 

Surrey  and  she  were  thrown  together  in  the 
same  Station  one  cold  weather ;  and  the  partic- 
ular Devil  who  looks  after  muddles  prompted 
Miss  Tallaght  to  fall  in  love  with  Surrey.  He 
had  spoken  to  her  perhaps  twenty  times — cer- 
tainly not  more — but  she  fell  as  unreasonably 
in  love  with  him  as  if  she  had  been  Elaine  and 
he  Lancelot. 

She,  of  course,  kept  her  own  counsel;  and, 
equally  of  course,  her  manner  to  Surrey,  who 
never  noticed  manner  or  style  or  dress  any 
more  than  he  noticed  a  sunset,  was  icy,  not 
to  say  repellant.  The  deadly  dullness  of 
Surrey  struck  her  as  reserve  of  force,  and  she 
grew  to  believe  he  was  wonderfully  clever  in 
some  secret  and  mysterious  sort  of  line.     She 


474  BITTERS  NEAT 

did  not  know  what  line;  but  she  believed,  and 
that  was  enough.  No  one  suspected  anything 
of  any  kind,  for  the  simple  reason  that  no  one 
took  any  deep  interest  in  Miss  Tallaght  except 
her  Aunt;  who  wanted  to  get  the  girl  off  her 
hands. 

This  went  on  for  some  months,  till  a  man 
suddenly  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  Miss  Tal- 
laght was  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him, 
and  told  her  so.  She  jawabed  him — without 
rhyme  or  reason ;  and  that  night  there  followed 
one  of  those  awful  bedroom  conferences  that 
men  know  nothing  about.  Miss  Tallaght's 
Aunt,  querulous,  indignant,  and  merciless,  with 
her  mouth  full  of  hairpins,  and  her  hands  full 
of  false  hair-plaits,  set  herself  to  find  out  by 
cross-examination  what  in  the  name  of  every- 
thing wise,  prudent,  religious  and  dutiful,  Miss 
Tallaght  meant  by  jawabing  her  suitor.  The 
conference  lasted  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  with 
question  on  question,  insult  and  reminders  of 
poverty — appeals  to  Providence,  then  a  fresh 
mouthful  of  hairpins — then  all  the  questions 
over  again,   beginning  with : — "But  what  do 

you  see  to  dislike  in  Mr. ?"  then,  a  vicious 

tug  at  what  was  left  of  the  mane;  then  im- 
pressive warnings  and  more  appeals  to  Heaven ; 
and  then  the  collapse  of  poor  Miss  Tallaght,  a 


BITTERS  NEAT  475 

rumpled,  crumpled,  tear-stained  arrangement 
in  white  on  the  couch  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and,  between  sobs  and  gasps,  the  whole  absurd 
little  story  of  her  love  for  Surrey. 

Now,  in  all  the  forty-five  years'  experience 
of  Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt,  she  had  never  heard 
of  a  girl  throwing  over  a  real  genuine  lover 
with  an  appointment,  for  a  problematical, 
hypothetical  lover,  to  whom  she  had  spoken 
merely  in  the  course  of  the  ordinary  social 
visiting  rounds.  So  Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  was 
struck  dumb,  and,  merely  praying  that  Heaven 
might  direct  Miss  Tallaght  into  a  better  frame 
of  mind,  dismissed  the  ayah,  and  went  to  bed ; 
leaving  Miss  Tallaght  to  sob  and  moan  herself 
to  sleep. 

Understand  clearly,  I  don't  for  a  moment  de- 
fend Miss  Tallaght.  She  was  wrong — ab- 
surdly wrong — but  attachments  like  hers  must 
sprout  by  the  law  of  averages,  just  to  remind 
people  that  Love  is  as  nakedly  unreasoning  as 
when  Venus  first  gave  him  his  kit  and  told 
him  to  run  away  and  play. 

Surrey  must  be  held  innocent — innocent  as 
his  own  pony.  Could  he  guess  that,  when 
Miss  Tallaght  was  as  curt  and  as  unpleasing 
as  she  knew  how,  she  would  have  risen  up  and 
followed  him   from  Colombo  to  Dadar  at  a 


476  BITTERS  NEAT 

word  ?  He  didn't  know  anything1,  or  care  any- 
thing about  Miss  Tallaght.  He  had  his  work 
to  do; 

Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  might  have  respected 
her  niece's  secret.  But  she  didn't.  What  we 
call  "Talking  rank  scandal,"  she  called  "seek- 
ing advice" ;  and  she  sought  advice,  on  the  case 
of  Miss  Tallaght,  from  the  Judge's  wife  "in 
strict  confidence,  my  dear,"  who  told  the  Com- 
missioner's wife,  "of  course  you  won't  repeat 
it,  my  dear,"  who  told  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner's wife,  "you  understand  it  is  to  go  no 
further,  my  dear,"  who  told  the  newest  bride, 
who  was  so  delighted  at  being  in  possession  of 
a  secret  concerning  real  grown-up  men  and 
women,  that  she  told  any  one  and  every  one 
who  called  on  her.  So  the  tale  went  all  over 
the  Station,  and  from  being  no  one  in  partic- 
ular, Miss  Tallaght  came  to  take  precedence 
of  the  last  interesting  squabble  between  the 
Judge's  wife  and  the  Civil  Engineer's  wife. 
Then  began  a  really  interesting  system  of  per- 
secution worked  by  women — soft  and  sympa- 
thetic and  intangible,  but  calculated  to  drive  a 
girl  off  her  head.  They  were  all  so  sorry  for 
Miss  Tallaght,  and  they  cooed  together  and 
were  exaggeratedly  kind  and  sweet  in  their 
manner  to  her,  as  those  who  said :  "You  may 
confide  in  us,  my  stricken  deer !" 


BITTERS  NEAT  477 

Miss  Tallaght  was  a  woman  and  sensitive. 
It  took  her  less  than  one  evening  at  the  Band 
Stand  to  find  that  her  poor  little,  precious  little 
secret,  that  had  been  wrenched  from  her  on  the 
rack,  was  known  as  widely  as  if  it  had  been 
written  on  her  hat.  I  don't  know  what  she 
went  through.  Women  don't  speak  of  these 
things,  and  men  ought  not  to  guess ;  but  it  must 
have  been  some  specially  refined  torture,  for 
she  told  her  Aunt  she  would  go  Home  and  die 
as  a  Governess  sooner  than  stay  in  this  hateful 
— hateful — place.  Her  Aunt  said  she  was  a 
rebellious  girl,  and  sent  her  Home  to  her  people 
after  a  couple  of  months;  and  said  no  one 
knew  what  the  pains  of  a  chaperone's  life 
were. 

Poor  Miss  Tallaght  had  one  pleasure  just  at 
the  last.  Half  way  down  the  line,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Surrey,  who  had  gone  down  on 
duty,  and  was  in  the  up-train.  And  he  took  off 
his  hat  to  her.  She  went  Home,  and  if  she  is 
not  dead  by  this  time  must  be  living  still. 


Months  afterward,  there  was  a  lively  dinner 
at  the  Club  for  the  Races.  Surrey  was  moon- 
ing about  as  usual,  and  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  idle  talk  flying  every  way.  Finally,  one 
man,  who  had  taken  more  than  was  good  for 


478  BITTERS  NEAT 

him,  said,  apropos  of  something  about  Surrey's 
reserved  ways, — "Ah,  you  old  fraud.  It's  all 
very  well  for  you  to  pretend.  I  know  a  girl 
who  was  awf'ly  mashed  on  you — once.  Dead 
nuts  she  was  on  old  Surrey.  What  had  you 
been  doing,  eh?" 

Surrey  expected  some  sort  of  sell,  and  said 
with  a  laugh : 

"Who  was  she?" 

Before  any  one  could  kick  the  man,  he 
plumped  out  with  the  name ;  and  the  Honorary 
Secretary  tactfully  upset  the  half  of  a  big  brew 
of  shandy-gaff  all  over  the  table.  After  the 
mopping  up,  the  men  went  out  to  the  Lotteries. 

But  Surrey  sat  on,  and,  after  ten  minutes, 
said  very  humbly  to  the  only  other  man  in  the 
deserted  dining-room:  "On  your  honor,  was 
there  a  word  of  truth  in  what  the  drunken  fool 
said?" 

Then  the  man  who  is  writing  this  story,  who 
had  known  of  the  thing  from  the  beginning, 
and  now  felt  all  the  hopelessness  and  tangle  of 
it — the  waste  and  the  muddle — said,  a  good 
deal  more  energetically  than  he  meant : 

"Truth!    O  man,  man,  couldn't  you  see  it?" 

Surrey  said  nothing,  but  sat  still,  smoking 
and  smoking  and  thinking,  while  the  Lottery 
tent  babbled  outside,  and  the  khitmutgars 
turned  down  the  lamps. 


BITTERS  NEAT  479 

To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  that 
was  the  first  thing  Surrey  ever  knew  about 
love.  But  his  awakening  did  not  seen  to  de- 
light him.  It  must  have  been  rather  unpleas- 
ant, to  judge  by  the  look  on  his  face.  He 
looked  like  a  man  who  had  missed  a  train  and 
had  been  half  stunned  at  the  same  time. 

When  the  men  came  in  from  the  Lotteries, 
Surrey  went  out.  He  wasn't  in  the  mood  for 
bones  and  "horse"  talk.  He  went  to  his  tent, 
and  the  last  thing  he  said,  quite  aloud  to  him- 
self, was:  "I  didn't  see.  I  didn't  see.  If  I 
had  only  known!" 

Even  if  he  had  known  I  don't  believe    .    .    . 

But  these  things  are  kismet,  and  we  only  find 
out  all  about  them  just  when  any  knowledge  is 
too  late. 


HAUNTED   SUBALTERNS 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

SO  long  as  the  "Inextinguishables"  confined 
themselves  to  running  picnics,  gymkhanas, 
flirtations  and  innocences  of  that  kind,  no  one 
said  anything.  But  when  they  ran  ghosts, 
people  put  up  their  eyebrows.  'Man  can't  feel 
comfy  with  a  regiment  that  entertains  ghosts 
on  its  establishment.  It  is  against  General 
Orders.  The  "Inextinguishables"  said  that  the 
ghosts  were  private  and  not  Regimental  prop- 
erty. They  referred  you  to  Tesser  for  partic- 
ulars ;  and  Tesser  told  you  to  go  to — the  hottest 
cantonment  of  all.  He  said  that  it  was  bad 
enough  to  have  men  making  hay  of  his  bedding 
and  breaking  his  banjo-strings  when  he  was 
out,  without  being  chaffed  afterward;  and  he 
would  thank  you  to  keep  your  remarks  on 
ghosts  to  yourself.  This  was  before  the  "In- 
extinguishables" had  sworn  by  their  several 
lady  loves  that  they  were  innocent  of  any  in- 
trusion into  Tesser's  quarters.  Then  Horrocks 
mentioned  casually  at  Mess,  that  a  couple  of 
white  figures  had  been  bounding  about  his 
483 


484         HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

room  the  night  before,  and  he  didn't  approve 
of  it.  The  "Inextinguishables"  denied,  ener- 
getically, that  they  had  had  any  hand  in  the 
manifestations,  and  advised  Hor rocks  to  con- 
sult Tesser. 

I  don't  suppose  that  a  Subaltern  believes  in 
anything  except  his  chances  of  a  Company; 
but  Horrocks  and  Tesser  were  exceptions. 
They  came  to  believe  in  their  ghosts.  They 
had  reason. 

Horrocks  used  to  find  himself,  at  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  staring  wide- 
awake, watching  two  white  Things  hopping 
about  his  room  and  jumping  up  to  the  ceiling. 
Horrocks  was  of  a  placid  turn  of  mind.  After 
a  week  or  so  spent  in  watching  his  servants, 
and  lying  in  wait  for  strangers,  and  trying  to 
keep  awake  all  night,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  haunted,  and  that,  consequently, 
he  need  not  bother.  He  wasn't  going  to  en- 
courage these  ghosts  by  being  frightened  of 
them.  Therefore,  when  he  awoke — as  usual — 
with  a  start  and  saw  these  Things  jumping 
like  kangaroos,  he  only  murmured :  "Go  on ! 
Don't  mind  me !"  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

Tesser  said :  "It's  all  very  well  for  you  to 
make  fun  of  your  show.  You  can  see  your 
ghosts.  Now  I  can't  see  mine,  and  I  don't  half 
like  it." 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS         485 

Tesser  used  to  come  into  his  room  of  nights, 
and  find  the  whole  of  his  bedding  neatly 
stripped,  as  if  it  had  been  done  with  one  sweep 
of  the  hand,  from  the  top  right-hand  corner 
of  the  charpoy  to  the  bottom  left-hand  corner. 
Also  his  lamp  used  to  lie  weltering  on  the  floor, 
and  generally  his  pet  screw-head,  inlaid,  nickel- 
plated  banjo  was  lying  on  the  charpoy,  with  all 
its  strings  broken.  Tesser  took  away  the 
strings  on  the  occasion  of  the  third  manifesta- 
tion, and  the  next  night  a  man  complimented 
him  on  his  playing  the  best  music  ever  got  out 
of  a  banjo,  for  half  an  hour. 

"Which  half  hour?"  said  Tesser. 

"Between  nine  and  ten,"  said  the  man.  Tes- 
ser had  gone  out  to  dinner  at  7 130  and  had 
returned  at  midnight. 

He  talked  to  his  bearer  and  threatened  him 
with  unspeakable  things.  The  bearer  was  grey 
with  fear:  "I'm  a  poor  man,"  said  he.  "If  the 
Sahib  is  haunted  by  a  Devil,  what  can  I  do?" 

"Who  says  I'm  haunted  by  a  Devil  ?"  howled 
Tesser,  for  he  was  angry. 

"I  have  seen  It,"  said  the  bearer,  "at  night, 
walking  round  and  round  your  bed;  and  that 
is  why  everything  is  ulta-pulta  in  your  room. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  but  I  never  go  into  your  room 
alone.     The  bhisti  comes  with  me." 


486        HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

Tesser  was  thoroughly  savage  at  this,  and 
he  spoke  to  Horrocks,  and  the  two  laid  traps 
to  catch  that  Devil,  and  threatened  their  ser- 
vants with  dog-whips  if  any  more  "shaitan-ke- 
hanky-panky"  took  place.  But  the  servants 
were  soaked  with  fear,  and  it  was  no  use  add- 
ing to  their  tortures.  When  Tesser  went  out 
for  a  night,  four  of  his  men,  as  a  rule,  slept  in 
the  veranda  of  his  quarters,  until  the  banjo 
without  the  strings  struck  up,  and  then  they 
fled. 

One  day,  Tesser  had  to  put  in  a  month  at  a 
Fort  with  a  detachment  of  "Inextinguishables." 
The  Fort  might  have  been  Govindghar,  Jum- 
rood  or  Phillour;  but  it  wasn't.  He  left  Can- 
tonments rejoicing,  for  his  Devil  was  preying 
on  his  mind;  and  with  him  went  another 
Subaltern,  a  junior.  But  the  Devil  came  too. 
After  Tesser  had  been  in  the  Fort  about  ten 
days  he  went  out  to  dinner.  When  he  came 
back  he  found  his  Subaltern  doing  sentry  on 
a  banquette  across  the  Fort  Ditch,  as  far  re- 
moved as  might  be  from  the  Officers'  Quar- 
ters. 

"What's  wrong?"  said  Tesser. 

The  Subaltern  said,  "Listen!"  and  the  two, 
standing  under  the  stars,  heard  from  the  Offi- 
cers' Quarters,  high  up  in  the  wall  of  the  Fort, 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS         487 

the  "strumpty,  tumty,  tumty"   of  the  banjo; 
which  seemed  to  have  an  oratorio  on  hand. 

"That  performance,"  said  the  Subaltern, 
"has  been  going  on  for  three  mortal  hours.  I 
never  wished  to  desert  before,  but  I  do  now. 
I  say,  Tesser,  old  man,  you  are  the  best  of  good 
fellows,  I'm  sure,  but  ...  I  say  . 
look  here,  now,  you  are  quite  unfit  to  live 
with.  'Tisn't  in  my  Commission,  you  know, 
that  I'm  to  serve  under  a  .  .  .  a  . 
man  with  Devils." 

"Isn't  it?"  said  Tesser.  "If  you  make  an 
ass  of  yourself  I'll  put  you  under  arrest 
.  .  and  in  my  room!" 
"You  can  put  me  where  you  please,  but  I'm 
not  going  to  assist  at  these  infernal  concerts. 
'Tisn't  right.  'Tisn't  natural.  Look  here,  I 
don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but — try  to 
think  now — haven't  you  done  something — ■ 
committed  some — murder  that  has  slipped  your 
memory — or  forged  something     ...      ?" 

"Well!  For  an  all-round,  double-shotted, 
half-baked  fool  you  are  the     .     .     ." 

"I  dare  say  I  am,"  said  the  Subaltern.  "But 
you  don't  expect  me  to  keep  my  wits  with  that 
row  going  on,  do  you?" 

The  banjo  was  rattling  away  as  if  it  had 
twenty  strings.    Tesser  sent  up  a  stone,  and  a 


488         HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

shower  of  broken  window-pane  fell  into  the 
Fort  Ditch;  but  the  banjo  kept  on.  Tesser 
hauled  the  other  Subaltern  up  to  the  quarters, 
and  found  his  room  in  frightful  confusion — 
lamp  upset,  bedding  all  over  the  floor,  chairs 
overturned  and  table  tilted  side-ways.  He  took 
stock  of  the  wreck  and  said  despairingly :  "Oh, 
this  is  lovely!" 

The  Subaltern  was  peeping  in  at  the  door. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,"  he  said.  "Tisn't 
lovely  enough  for  me.  I  locked  up  your  room 
directly  after  you  had  gone  out.  See  here,  I 
think  you'd  better  apply  for  Horrocks  to  come 
out  in  my  place.  He's  troubled  with  your  com- 
plaint, and  this  business  will  make  me  a  jabber- 
ing idiot  if  it  goes  on." 

Tesser  went  to  bed  amid  the  wreckage,  very 
angry,  and  next  morning  he  rode  into  Can- 
tonments and  asked  Horrocks  to  arrange  to 
relieve  "that  fool  with  me  now." 

"You've  got  'em  again,  have  you?"  said 
Horrocks.  "So've  I.  Three  white  figures  this 
time.  We'll  worry  through  the  entertainment 
together." 

So  Horrocks  and  Tesser  settled  down  in  the 
Fort  together,  and  the  "Inextinguishables" 
said  pleasant  things  about  "seven  other  Devils." 
Tesser  didn't  see  where  the  joke  came  in.    His 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS         489 

room  was  thrown  upside  down  three  nights  out 
of  the  seven.  Horrocks  was  not  troubled  in 
any  way,  so  his  ghosts  must  have  been  purely 
local  ones.  Tesser,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
personally  haunted;  for  his  Devil  had  moved 
with  him  from  Cantonments  to  the  Fort. 
Those  two  boys  spent  three  parts  of  their  time 
trying  to  find  out  who  was  responsible  for  the 
riot  in  Tesser's  rooms.  At  the  end  of  a  fort- 
night they  tried  to  find  out  what  was  respon- 
sible ;  and  seven  days  later  they  gave  it  up  as  a 
bad  job.  Whatever  It  was,  It  refused  to  be 
caught ;  even  when  Tesser  went  out  of  the  Fort 
ostentatiously,  and  Horrocks  lay  under  Tesser's 
charpoy  with  a  revolver.  The  servants  were 
afraid — more  afraid  than  ever — and  all  the 
evidence  showed  that  they  had  been  playing  no 
tricks.  As  Tesser  said  to  Horrocks :  "A 
haunted  Subaltern  is  a  joke,  but  s'pose  this 
keeps  on.  Just  think  what  a  haunted  Colonel 
would  be!  And,  look  here — s'pose  I  marry! 
D'  you  s'pose  a  girl  would  live  a  week  with 
me  and  this  Devil?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Horrocks.  "I  haven't 
married  often;  but  I  knew  a  woman  once  who 
lived  with  her  husband  when  he  had  D.  T. 
He's  dead  now  and  I  dare  say  she  would  marry 
you  if  you  asked  her.     She  isn't  exactly  a  girl 


490        HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

though,  but  she  has  a  large  experience  of  the 
other  devils — the  blue  variety.  She's  a  Gov- 
ernment pensioner  now,  and  you  might  write, 
y'  know.  Personally,  if  I  hadn't  suffered  from 
ghosts  of  my  own,  I  should  rather  avoid  you." 

"That's  just  the  point,"  said  Tesser.  "This 
Devil  will  end  in  getting  me  budnamed,  and 
you  know  I've  lived  on  lemon-squashes  and 
gone  to  bed  at  ten  for  weeks  past." 

"  'Tisn't  that  sort  of  Devil,"  said  Horrocks. 
"It's  either  a  first-class  fraud  for  which  some 
one  ought  to  be  killed  or  else  you've  offended 
one  of  these  Indian  Devils.  It  stands  to  reason 
that  such  a  beastly  country  should  be  full  of 
fiends  of  all  sorts." 

"But  why  should  the  creature  fix  on  me," 
said  Tesser,  "and  why  won't  he  show  himself 
and  have  it  out  like  a — like  a  Devil?" 

They  were  talking  outside  the  Mess  after 
dark,  and,  even  as  they  spoke,  they  heard  the 
banjo  begin  to  play  in  Tesser's  room,  about 
twenty  yards  off. 

Horrocks  ran  to  his  own  quarters  for  a  shot- 
gun and  a  revolver,  and  Tesser  and  he  crept 
up  quietly,  the  banjo  still  playing,  to  Tesser's 
door. 

"Now  we've  got  It!"  said  Horrocks,  as  he 
threw  the  door  open  and  let  fly  with  the  twelve- 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS         491 

bore;  Tesser  squibbing  off  all  six  barrels  into 
the  dark,  as  hard  as  he  could  pull  the  trigger. 

The  furniture  was  ruined,  and  the  whole 
Fort  was  awake ;  but  that  was  all.  No  one  had 
been  killed  and  the  banjo  was  lying  on  the  dis- 
heveled bedclothes  as  usual. 

Then  Tesser  sat  down  in  the  veranda,  and 
used  language  that  would  have  qualified  him 
for  the  companionship  of  unlimited  Devils. 
Horrocks  said  things  too;  but  Tesser  said  the 
worst. 

When  the  month  in  the  Fort  came  to  an  end, 
both  Horrocks  and  Tesser  were  glad.  They 
held  a  final  council  of  war,  but  came  to  no  con- 
clusion. 

"  'Seems  to  me,  your  best  plan  would  be  to 
make  your  Devil  stretch  himself.  Go  down  to 
Bombay  with  the  time-expired  men,  said 
Horrocks.  "If  he  really  is  a  Devil,  he'll  come 
in  the  train  with  you." 

"  'Tisn't  good  enough,"  said  Tesser.  "Bom- 
bay's no  fit  place  to  live  in  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  But  I'll  put  in  for  Depot  duty  at  the 
Hills."    And  he  did. 

Now  here  the  tale  rests.  The  Devil  stayed 
below,  and  Tesser  went  up  and  was  free.  If 
I  had  invented  this  story,  I  should  have  put  in 
a  satisfactory  ending — explained  the  manifes- 


492         HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS 

tations  as  somebody's  practical  joke.  My 
business  being  to  keep  to  facts,  I  can  only  say 
what  I  have  said.  The  Devil  may  have  been  a 
hoax.  If  so,  it  was  one  of  the  best  ever  ar- 
ranged. If  it  was  not  a  hoax  .  .  .  but 
you  must  settle  that  for  yourselves. 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A         001  424  547  6 


